


Veni, Vidi, Amavi

by sincerely_inge



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (Again not Louis and Harry), (But not between Louis and Harry), Artist Louis, As in Harry is a bad influence on Louis, Bad Boy Harry, Bad Parenting, Daddy Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, Infidelity, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Recreational Drug Use, Shy Louis, Teen Pregnancy, Underage Drinking, but there's also fluff, kind of angst, like enough to make up for the angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2019-09-16 14:30:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 95,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16955760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincerely_inge/pseuds/sincerely_inge
Summary: "I hope to arrive to my death late, in love, and a little drunk."In which Louis takes an interest in the toxicity that is Harry Styles.(Longer description in notes)Poem by: Atticus, a poet on Instagram (@atticuspoetry).





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> 𝕃𝕠𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝔻𝕖𝕤𝕔𝕣𝕚𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟
> 
> Louis Tomlinson is the walking embodiment of an antisocial loner: he doesn't have any friends, has no siblings and spends all his free time in his room. If he's not up there, drawing and studying, he's sneaking out at night to wander around his town. It's how he meets Harry Styles, who's covered in tattoos and piercings and who can't go ten minutes without swearing.
> 
> But also the Harry Styles that knows flowers, comes up with cat puns on the spot and who doesn't like to talk about himself, instead putting all of his efforts into getting to know Louis.
> 
> They were never meant to work out.
> 
> Harry was never meant to find out about Louis' father who was too prone to violence, and Louis was never meant to find out about Harry's parents and the name 'Zayn' that kept popping up all the time.
> 
> But Louis and Harry never really liked rules anyway.

 

𝕠𝕟𝕖

 

Louis Tomlinson had been drawing pictures his entire life. From the moment he could pick up a pencil he had created drawings. Over the years, he improved in his abilities and developed a talent and a genuine love for art, choosing to go to exhibits instead of the cinema where his peers would often go. He would choose drawing over homework, sketching over gaming and daydreaming over education.

It was probably the reason why he grew up so secludedly. He was an introvert, that was what everyone told him, what his mother told him. He didn't have many friends while growing up; or, any, really. There were no siblings for him to befriend either, growing up an only child. He was alone all the time, though it wasn't to be confused with being lonely. The loneliness didn't come until he was fifteen when his parents started fighting after his dad cheated on his mum. He would hide out in his room where he would listen to muffled voices yelling muffled words, drawing mindlessly.

His drawing styles had changed over the years, ranging from cartoon to realism. Eventually, he settled on a rather unique style: line art. The style started appearing after Louis discovered Boris Schmitz, a not very well known artist who would create art with a single continuous line. Louis would do similar art, only he would use multiple lines to create the most minimalistic piece he could. He would keep it at a few lines that forced people to fill in the blanks themselves: faces were often kept empty, arms would end in nothing and hairs would only be a few lines to create texture. He never drew eyes, only if they were closed. Why, he wasn't sure. Maybe because eyes conveyed too much emotion to put in a drawing. Maybe because Louis wasn't sure how certain emotions looked in the eyes of another person: he only knew anger and irritation from his parents and condescension from his bullies. So, no open eyes, but that didn't prevent him from drawing.

He drew many things: things he hated, things he loved, things that didn't make sense. In the end, he realised he liked drawing things that made people blush, that made them curious but apprehensive to admit it, almost like a guilty pleasure. His drawings had an air of sex around them, always leaning towards something erotic: nothing pornographic, that went too far for him, but he never abstained from drawing someone naked or putting a figure — sometimes two — in suggestive positions.

The problem with that was that Louis was sixteen, only three months away from turning seventeen. Now, the problem wasn't in his age, it laid in the fact that all his peers were the same age, just a lot smaller minded. He found out he was mentally a lot more mature when one day, a couple of months after he had turned sixteen, he dropped his journal which fell open on one of his most suggestive drawings at the time: a woman in the middle of a moan, her hair scattered over an invisible drawing, her eyes screwed shut. Immediately, people took the opportunity to spread rumours about him and bully him; he was already a loner, but that particular incident pretty much set it in stone.

Because of the excessive bullying, he had to switch schools in the middle of the year and ended up failing his A-levels because of the sudden switch. He decided to redo his year, simply because his results had been too low to go to any proper universities. It had given his parents a few extra things to fight about too as if it was even their business to fight about.

They fought about a lot. Everything, really. About the adultery from Louis' dad, about bills, Louis' education, the hours they both worked, who had to do dinner and then what was wrong about the food, who was supposed to clean the house; there was so, so much. Louis' heart broke for it, but not because his parents fought: rather because they never got a divorce and just chose to ruin the mood at home all the time. Sometimes they fought because Louis was in his bedroom too much, that he was too anti-social and too much of a loner.

As if Louis would sit on the couch and pretend to watch the telly while his parents yelled at each other in the background.

Tonight was another one of those nights. Louis was in his room, at his desk that was beside his window, so that he could look to his left and look straight into the street whenever he wanted to. There was a fight happening downstairs again, but he didn't try to listen in anymore—he used to, all the time, but after a year the topics just start blending in with each other, and it always came down to the same thing anyway: him. He was the problem, always. There was always something wrong.

He didn't care much about it anymore.

In front of him was his schedule for tomorrow, his first school day. He wasn't exactly excited, but at least it gave him a reason to be away from home. He was slightly annoyed with the fact that school uniforms were no longer required in sixth form because he absolutely tanked when it came to fashion.

He might be artistically creative, but when it came down to clothing he was completely useless. It almost always came down to black skinny jeans, a white or black shirt and a hoodie of sorts. At his old school he at least got to wear a uniform—not that they survived the school day: how many times had he gotten paint poured over his head, or holes cut into his clothes during PE? They did it because he was an 'artist and should dress like one'.

From the four months he had spent at his 'new' school, he had quickly understood that he wasn't going to get bullied. Friends, however, were also out of the question: he had gone from a bullied lone wolf to a regular lone wolf. Was it an upgrade? He supposed that, in a way, it was.

"... _sits in his room all day!_ "

Louis sighed at the faint words. At least they were getting to the end of the fight. There had been times where he had tried to listen to music to muffle out the sounds, but he had never been much of a fan of music and just ended up tired and with a lack of concentration for whatever he was trying to do.

A glance at the red alarm clock on his bedside table told him that it was eleven pm. Because Louis just happened to suffer from a minor case of insomnia, he knew he wasn't going to be tired till at least two am (also something his parents fought over: " _He sleeps all day because he'd rather do that than socialise! He's lazy and anti-social to a point!_ ").

After grabbing his jacket from his closet and putting it on, Louis locked the door to his bedroom and went over to his window. It didn't take him any effort to slide his window open and climb through it, not even with his journal and pencil in hand. He did it often, sneaking out of the house: his parents never noticed, too engrossed in themselves to notice anything about him.

Although he wasn't very athletic, he was still good at climbing out the window, stepping over the windowsill and on the roof of the garage. He'd jump off the roof via one of the garbage cans beside the garage, which he also used to climb back up.

Whenever he would sneak out, he'd walk around the town he lived in for a while until he came across something he could draw.

There weren't a lot of people out in the streets, as it was a Sunday night and everyone was required to go back to school and work tomorrow. Sometimes, Louis came across someone going for a run or walking their dog, who he would then offer a small smile.

It was mild out, a small breeze ruffling Louis' fringe and making the evening a little better in terms of comfort. The clouds prevented the stars and the moon from lighting up the night, making it dark out, darker than usual.

Eventually, after a bit of walking, Louis found himself sitting down on a bench in the only park in his town. It was across from a pond that was surrounded by a few birch trees, coincidentally Louis' favourite type of tree. There was no particular reason that they were his favourite. Maybe because they were easy to draw, with their black spots in the white wood. Maybe they represented something he was too daft to grasp. Maybe he just liked the way they looked.

By opening his half-filled journal, Louis found that he didn't exactly have a lot of inspiration; not even the walk had helped him out. The journal was his fifth one, the other four filled over the last few years. He still had each of them, stowed away in the bookcase in a corner of his room, gathering dust. Even though he'd probably never do anything with them again, he still kept them because of the emotional value the worn-out books had. They also showed his improvement in drawing over the years and his journey of discovering his own style.

Once, a while ago before his father ruined everything, Louis' mother had asked Louis whether he wanted to do something with his art. Whether he wanted to go to an art school of sorts, or at least pursue a career in art. Despite it being a lie, Louis had told her no. He'd love to make a living from drawing, but he knew that, realistically, there was a small probability of him actually earning any money out of it. In all probability, he'd probably just end up working in an office from nine to five like his parents, wasting his life away behind a desk and a computer for a company he had no value for.

He was scared of the future. It wasn't something he liked to admit, but it was true: he was positively terrified. He didn't want to end up in the position he just described, he didn't want to live a life like his parents, trapped in an idle job and some loveless, half-arsed marriage that ended up in fights every single night. He'd rather hang himself than live like that, which was a tactless thing to say, but not less true.

Louis was shaken out of his thoughts by a deep, husky voice that spoke in a slow, almost relaxed drawl. "Mind if I join?" The voice asked, and when Louis looked up, found himself staring into the eyes of a curly haired guy around Louis' own age.

Louis only nodded, rather one for choosing his gestures than his words. The guy offered him a half-hearted smile and sat down on the bench.

When Louis looked away, his eyes fell on a flower that had survived the bleak summer. He started drawing after studying it for a few seconds, the air he shared with the stranger beside him filled with the sound of his pencil scratching on paper.

After a bit, Louis' nose picked up a pungent smell of smoke, and when he looked up, found that the source of the smell was the stranger, a cigarette between his lips. Louis immediately noticed the giant rose tattoo on the guy's neck and wondered why somebody would get a tattoo that big in that obvious of a spot. Instead of saying anything, Louis decided not to be judgemental and just continue drawing. He had it half finished already, as flowers had always been easy to draw.

"Gloxinia," the stranger suddenly said. Louis looked up with a small, confused frown, but didn't say anything. "The flower you're drawing. It's called Gloxinia.  _Sinningia speciosa_."

After a second, Louis wrote the names at the bottom of the page, not really sure what the stranger expected him to do with the new information. "Thanks," he said, continuing his drawing. "You know flowers?"

"My mum did—does," the stranger said. Louis didn't point out the correction, but still silently wondered about it. "She's mental about that sort of thing. Got this whole garden filled with flowers."

"That's nice," Louis said, and the stranger hummed. In the silence that fell over them, the stranger smoked and watched Louis' draw, and Louis drew silently, very much aware of the eyes on his journal.

"You're good at that."

"Thanks."

Despite their lack of conversation, it wasn't as awkward as it seemed. Louis found it remarkable, how two complete strangers were comfortable enough to sit in silence with each other—then again, it was nearly midnight and they were in the middle of an empty park; what was there to talk about?

When Louis finished his drawing, he tore out the page after a moment of contemplation and handed it over to the stranger, who raised an eyebrow. "For your mum," Louis said, not really sure what to do or say when the stranger didn't take the drawing. "I have enough drawings anyway."

The stranger took the drawing with a small smile, and Louis noticed the tattoos on the back of his hand and fingers. "Cheers," he said, tossing his cigarette on the ground and pressing it out with the toes of his scuffed leather boots. "I'm Harry, by the way."

The clouds thinned enough to allow a bit of moonlight to shine through, and revealed that the stranger, now Harry, had green eyes, a bit like emeralds or leaves on trees just before autumn. His lips were plump and pink, his lower lip just a bit bigger than his upper one. His nose was big, but not in an ugly way; it was the perfect size for his face. His strong jaw was a contrast to his otherwise soft profile.

"Louis."

Harry offered him a small smile. "You're a good artist, Louis," he said and the smile disappeared as he looked out in front of himself again.

Louis didn't look away, his eyes drawn to the earrings in Harry's ear. There was a good amount of them: three in his earlobe, a small barbell which crossed his ear to connect both sides of his helix, and a piercing in his tragus. It was a big collection, and it made Louis wonder if his other ear was in a similar state.

"Thanks, Harry," he said, the name foreign in his mouth. The whole talking thing was foreign to him. He didn't have any friends to talk to, let alone he'd talk to complete strangers with his closed-off personality. He only had his parents to talk to, which happened less and less often. It was then that it really sunk in how alone he actually was. He had always known he was, but it still hit him hard.

Louis suddenly became desperate for the conversation to last, but it seemed that nothing ever went his way, because the sound of a ringtone suddenly cut through the silence. "Oh, shit," Harry said, taking out his phone and sending Louis a quick smile. "I have to take this. Have a good night, Louis. It was nice meeting you."

And then he stood up and walked away, putting his phone to his ear and cackling after a couple of seconds. Louis was left behind on the bench, watching Harry walk away and disappear into the night. He should've gotten his phone number, something to somehow keep in contact with him.

But then again, who said that Harry even wanted that? They were just two strangers who had a small conversation in a park, keeping each other company in an otherwise lonely night. Still, Louis wasn't used to that. Weren't they supposed to exchange phone numbers to stay in contact? Or did people not do that? Was it just a one-time conversation, something to fill the silence and to forget about later?

Louis was confused, was what it came down to, and also disappointed. He'd have liked to have a friend, someone to talk to every once in a while.

But by the time Louis was in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, that desire had almost entirely faded. The thing was, was that Louis had been fine on his own his entire life. Friends weren't unwelcome, but they weren't necessary to him either. In the end, they'd always let him down: he was just protecting himself, in a very morbid, tactless way.

He'd rather be alone and feel fine than to be around people and feel too much.

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

The next morning, Louis had to drag himself out of bed at the sound of his alarm. It took him a good twenty minutes to decide on his outfit, which eventually just ended up in a sweater and skinny jeans like it always did. It was the most basic thing he could muster up, something he knew was a little dull, but it kept the attention away from him. It put him in the background, in a sense, which was something he preferred. The last time he actually got a taste of the spotlight ended with him switching schools because the bullying got too detrimental, both physically and mentally.

"Morning, mum."

Whenever Louis looked at his mother, he saw a unique type of beauty. He had never quite seen it on anybody else, the way she could light up a room with her smile or hug away his fatigue. In a way, he supposed she was his first love because that was what she gave him: love. She was affable in a way Louis could only aspire to be. The fact that she was married to a man who brought out all the bad things was something so painful to Louis, that he couldn't even imagine what it was like for her.

Once, a long time ago, Louis had decided that no combination of the 26 words in the alphabet could describe his mother, and he still believed that sacredly.

"Good morning, Louis," his mother said with a smile, looking at him over the rim of her mug. "Did you sleep well?"

Louis nodded, even though it wasn't the truth. He had stopped trying to explain his insomnia to his parents a while ago, as they just refused to understand it.

"That's good," his mother said. His dad was already off to work, and fifteen minutes before Louis would go to school, his mother would leave as well. "Are you excited for school?"

Louis shook his head as he grabbed his strawberry yoghurt and a small spoon. Eating breakfast always made him nauseous for some reason and made him feel bloated as if he'd just eaten a three-course meal, which wasn't the nicest feeling at eight in the morning. Not too long ago, he went a long time without eating breakfast, but eventually, his mum started forcing him to at least eat something for the sake of his health. It ended with him eating a small container, about the size of his hand, of strawberry yoghurt each morning, something he just barely managed to keep down.

But it made his mother happy, which is something she deserved to be.

"I suppose I wouldn't be excited either," his mother said as Louis sat down in the seat in front of her. "It'll be fine, though, I'm sure."

Louis sent her a smile. "Probably."

He truly didn't talk much. Compared to his mother, he was pretty much mute. She was thoroughly extroverted, whereas Louis was a complete polar opposite. Not necessarily because he hated parties or because he was socially anxious, but mostly because nobody had ever invited him to anything, and because he was just too different from his peers. He didn't like gaming, something guys his age did all the time, but liked to walk around art exhibits, something nobody his age seemed to like. He was, in a way, forced to be an introvert, because there was nothing for him to be extroverted for.

"Shoot, I have to go," his mother suddenly said, jumping up from her seat and spilling a bit of tea on the table.

She had never tried to get Louis to talk, unlike his father, who always tried to get him to come out of his shell—Louis didn't think he had a shell. He chose not to talk, not to go out or to hang out with people. He appreciated that his father tried, though, because it showed that he cared. Either that, or he was just ashamed of the fact that Louis was a complete loner.

"I'll see you tonight, sweetheart."

Louis got a kiss pressed to his forehead, and he sent his mother his second smile of that day. "Love you," he said, and his mother beamed.

"Love you too," she said. Then she was gone, out the front door, leaving Louis behind with a half-empty yoghurt container and a tea spill on the table.

After throwing the remainder of his yoghurt away and cleaning up the tea, Louis went into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

The guy in the mirror stared back at him with an equally stoic expression. Louis didn't like his reflection: not because he thought he was ugly, if anything, he ought himself rather lucky with his complexion, but because it never changed. Louis was always the same. Bored eyes and a mouth in a flat line, creating for a disinterested expression that Louis knew didn't make him very approachable.

He smiled but quickly wiped it away again. It looked so  _fake_ ; whenever he had to smile on commando it was just too fake, it never quite reached his eyes and made him look a little irritated. All his school pictures were the same case: a painfully fake smile with painfully dull eyes.

"A smile is a curve that sets everything straight," Louis mumbled to himself as he brushed his teeth, the toothpaste a little too strong and burning his gums. Actress Phyllis Diller had said the quote once, and Louis had stumbled upon it by accident. It had resonated with him for some reason, maybe because he wasn't good at smiling himself. What could his feigned smile set straight? The fighting between his parents? His lack of friendship or social skills?

Sure.

By the time Louis locked the front door and started his short walk to school, it was already late. It probably wasn't the best thing, to arrive late on your first day of school, but then again, did it really matter? It wasn't like it was going to decide everything for the rest of the year. The only thing that he could miss out on was getting a seat next to his friends—oh wait.

The walk to school was short, a little over seven minutes. Louis would know, he used to count. Not anymore, but there actually was a particular reason for that: he used to do it to calm his nerves, but he didn't have those anymore. He was used to his 'new' school now, after a couple of months of going there, so he knew the layout and the students well enough to know what and who to avoid the most.

When he walked into the school he was immediately hit with the strong realisation that if he had studied a bit harder, he didn't have to do this all over again. He could've stayed in bed. Could've, would've, should've.

He went straight to the auditorium, where they were having a small welcome assembly before the lessons would officially start. The principal would come up on the stage and give some sappy speech about how this was the most important year so far and how they were always going to remember this place... it was so cliche that Louis didn't bother paying attention through the whole twenty minutes. He had taken out a pen and had started doodling on his hand to pass the time, sinking low in his seat to make himself comfortable.

It wasn't like he was the only one. Everyone was either on their phones or whispering to each other, but nobody was paying attention, not really. It seemed that they'd rather get it over and done with like Louis, instead of listening and nodding along with everything that was being said.

Louis' first, official lesson was History, which was truly just an amazing way to start the school year. He managed to snatch up a seat in the back of the classroom, and wasn't very surprised when nobody sat down next to him. He understood it, really: he knew that if he was them, he'd sit with a friend or at least someone he was familiar with rather than with some irritated-looking guy with ink all over his hand.

"Well, I think we're complete," the teacher said, a woman in her late forties with cat-eye glasses. She clapped her hands together with a smile, but Louis didn't bother looking up and continued his slightly smudged doodles on his hand, very much aware that he was being rude. "So, before we—"

The door suddenly opened before she could continue. Louis still didn't look up, but that was mostly because he was working on creating a very precise line that had to curve just right, which required a lot of effort and concentration.

"Hello there. Can I help you, young man?"

Whoever the 'young man' was cleared his throat. "Not really. Just couldn't find the classroom," he said. After a second, the voice managed to crawl its way into Louis' mind, all the way to his long-term memory, where he remembered the voice. The deep, husky voice that spoke in a slow drawl.

' _You're a good artist, Louis.'_

And when Louis looked up, he found himself looking at no other than Harry himself, the guy from last night who Louis had been so convinced he'd never see again.

But Harry was right there, in the doorway, and Louis realised that life really doesn't give a fuck about anything anymore.


	2. two.

 

𝕥𝕨𝕠

 

How was it even possible? How big were the odds that a complete stranger Louis met last night turned out to be a classmate? Louis knew his town wasn't tremendously big, but it wasn't so small that it resulted in him going to school with every teenager he ever met. God, he didn't even consider the fact that Harry even went to school anymore. He looked so much older.

Especially in the daylight. His arms were covered in tattoos, not a single bit of skin left uninked. The black t-shirt he was wearing dipped low past his collarbones and revealed a hint of tattoos on his chest. Louis had seen the tattooed hands and neck, but he hadn't expected that it was only a taste of so much more ink.

Harry didn't even notice Louis at first. He just sat down next to him because it was the only empty seat left, oblivious to all the eyes on him: maybe he was aware of them, who knows, he was presumably used to it. With the way he looked, he probably got a lot of stares, but it wasn't without reason: which teenager looked like  _that_? Covered in ink and piercings? He could pass for twenty-five, easily.

Louis was too baffled to speak, both because Harry was  _right there_  and because of the tattoos, so he did what he often did, and stared. He stared until Harry became aware of a pair of eyes burning holes in the side of his face and looked up, his eyes meeting Louis'.

They widened for a moment before Harry smirked a little. "No shit," he said softly because their teacher was introducing herself and they needed to be quiet. "Louis, right?"

Louis could only nod.

"Small world," Harry said as if it was such a regular occurrence. "Good to know I at least know someone here, yeah? Being new sucks."

Louis nodded again, still not responding vocally. Then he realised that this was his shot at being less of a lone wolf, less of a loser, and that he could actually be friends with Harry: he just had to talk back. What was there to talk about, though?  _Did you have a good night last night?_    _Did you keep my drawing? What did that person on the phone want?_

"I can show you around the school if you want?" He said, which wasn't a very golden line in terms of conversation, but it at least showed that Louis wasn't a mute—at least, not entirely. It was a better question than the ones he had come up with prior.

"If it ain't a bother?" Harry asked, running a hand through his curls. "Like a fucking maze here."

"Yeah," Louis said, and then crinkled his nose when he realised what his answer implied to him. "I mean, yeah it's a maze. Not that it's, like, a bother to show you around."

Harry's lips twitched in amusement, his eyes looking Louis up and down as if Louis was an artwork that needed extra detail. "Right," he then said. "So you'll show me around?"

"Well, yeah. I—yeah."

"Alright," Harry said, taking a quick glance at the powerpoint on the smart board in the front of the classroom, which had a bunch of 'fun facts' about their teacher, who was explaining with an excited smile. "Thanks, mate."

"No worries," Louis said, and nearly visibly cringed at his own use of words. Harry didn't seem to be too bothered with it, but Louis felt like a proper idiot. Leave it to him to make everything awkward for himself. No wonder he didn't have any friends, he couldn't even keep up with a regular conversation.

He'd be lying if he'd say he wasn't trying to impress Harry at least a little bit. There was an opportunity for him here, an opportunity that could help Louis out of his friendless predicament. Yet here he was, stammering and saying 'uncool' stuff like 'no worries'. He sounded like their bloody teacher, who just informed the whole class that she had three cats, which was a prediction of Louis' future if he kept up his antisocial behaviour.

Harry suddenly leaned over with a small smirk. "You want to bet she's married to one of them?" He joked, and Louis was so taken aback by the sudden joke that he snorted out loud.

"Want to bet she turned her husband into one of them?" He said, not really sure where the sudden confidence in joking came from, but it made Harry burst into surprised laughter.

It was loud enough for the whole class to hear, which made everyone—including the teacher—turn to him and Harry with weird looks. Harry clapped his hands together, wheezing with laughter at a joke that wasn't even  _that_  good, but it just made Louis laugh as well.

"Something funny, boys?" The teacher asked with a small, slightly uncertain smile, but Harry and Louis kept laughing.

Harry made a slicing movement with his hand by his neck, as if he was saying 'no more'. He nudged Louis' arm. "Their marriage was a fucking  _cat_ -astrophe," he said, and even though it was a terrible joke, Louis still doubled over in laughter, clapping his hands together.

"Okay, okay," Their teacher said, now turning a bit irritated at their behaviour. She probably wasn't too happy with Harry's cursing either. "How about you two cut this short?"

After a couple of seconds, they managed to calm down, swallowing the rest of their laughter and forcing themselves into upright positions. "So sorry, miss," Harry said with a smug smirk as he fixed his curls. "We just thought of something  _fur_ -midable, is all. Got us  _feline_  a bit funny. We're done now,  _fur_ real."

Louis had to bite his lip hard not to burst out into laughter again, giving Harry a light kick under the table.

Thankfully, the teacher went back to her powerpoint presentation without picking up on the puns. Throughout the rest of the lesson, Louis and Harry would snicker quietly every time they made eye-contact. It had Louis feeling exceptionally happy because he realised that this was what it was like to have friends. To joke around during class and to laugh about things that weren't even that funny.

Louis felt that, in some way, he belonged. He couldn't really explain it. It just... it felt good. It felt good to joke around with someone, to laugh and have a bit of fun in an otherwise fairly dull lesson.

When a phone suddenly went off, Harry had muttered, under his breath for only Louis to hear, "'S'a catcall." It had made Louis cheerful because it was an inside joke between the two of them, something dumb and unfunny and only for them to understand.

But it seemed that when the bell rang to indicate the end of the lesson, it didn't just end their history class; it ended their short-lived friendship as well. As Louis shoved his unused books back into his bag, a girl approached them—or, rather, Harry. She didn't even spare Louis a glance.

"Hi," she flirtily said, leaning her hip on the table and smiling at Harry. "Harry, right? I'm Ava, I heard you were new?"

"Yeah," Harry said, leaning forward a little, clearly interested in 'Ava'. "Ava's a pretty name."

"Does it suit me?"

Louis bit his lip. It was such an obvious invite for Harry to compliment her, which he obviously did. Louis didn't blame him: he'd probably have done the same, had a pretty girl given him attention like that. It wasn't even a lie, because she was pretty. Brown hair and brown eyes, arched eyebrows and plump lips: she could be modelling in a catalogue and Louis wouldn't have been surprised.

Harry seemed to have forgotten about him as he talked—or, rather flirted—with the girl, so Louis slinked off quietly, ignoring the disappointment that settled in his chest. The feeling only got stronger when Harry didn't even call out to him.

His next lesson was Maths, and he was a little thankful when it turned out that Harry didn't have the same class as him.

All of it just proved what Louis had been saying all along: in the end, 'friends' only let you down. And maybe Harry and Louis weren't friends yet, maybe they were only acquaintances, but that just made it easier for Louis to stop their growing friendship. Harry clearly didn't mind or care, so why should Louis try to make him?

Louis didn't have friends, and he didn't need them either. He'd been alone his whole life, and he'd have no trouble finishing school alone too.

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

The next day, Louis found himself by his locker when his ears caught a conversation behind him. Well, his ears caught Harry's voice, which was very distinct, but somehow even more so to Louis, who subtly listened into the conversation.

It was mostly Harry chatting up the girl he was talking with, mixed with some mindless chatter. After a bit, Louis was about to leave, when he heard his name pop up in the conversation.

"So, one of my friends said you were friends with that loner? Louis or whatever?" The girl asked, and Louis found it impressive that she knew his name. Not because he thought she was dumb, but because he had been convinced nobody knew about his existence—turns out that people did know about him. 'Loner Louis', apparently.

"Yeah, he's nice," Harry replied, which made Louis a bit angry. What did Harry know? He pretty much dropped Louis the moment someone else paid attention to him, so how could he know that Louis was nice? "Why?"

"He's just so... odd? You know what I mean," the girl said. "You probably shouldn't hang out with him. He'll drag you down into his loner depths."

Maybe she was a little dumb. What did loner depths even mean? And wasn't it an oxymoron, for a 'loner' to have a 'friend'?

"He's my mate," Harry said. It tugged at Louis' heart:  _liar liar liar_. Mates talked and hung out, but Louis hadn't spoken to Harry since ten am yesterday. Not like Louis was keeping track of the hours or anything. "I bet you never even talked to him, what would you know?"

Louis had expected him to say a lot, but not that. When he not-so-subtly glanced over his shoulder he found that the girl looked a bit surprised at the sudden harsh words. Louis felt pretty similar. Maybe they did have something in common?

The bell suddenly rang, interrupting... everything, really, and causing Louis to slam his locker shut in surprise, snapped out of his concentrated gaze on the pair behind him. This, of course, caused the girl and Harry to look at him, but with years of practice, Louis was quite good at keeping his head down and avoiding everyone's gazes, so it's what he did.

He walked straight to his next lesson, not meeting Harry's eyes and silently noting that Harry's black Timberlands needed a thorough cleaning session.

He should've anticipated that throughout the next two weeks, Harry got further and further out of his league. He shot to popularity almost instantly, everyone drooling over the new guy at school who looked like every fanfiction's bad boy. Louis didn't blame anyone: he wasn't blind and was very much aware of how good-looking Harry was. The fact that Harry was able to talk to anyone only helped his popularity.

During lunch, Louis always saw Harry sitting at a table with a bunch of people, every day a new table. And Louis sat alone like he always did.

It was nearly comical, how different they were. Yet, during the two times they talked, they had been equal. Two strangers with nothing to say but who still spoke, giving the other company. Louis should've known it wouldn't last. It never did.

So fuck the universe for everything the third week of school brought him.

It started on a Monday morning, during History. Harry, for some reason, was late. And lo and behold, the only empty seat was next to Louis.

"Hey," Harry said to him as he sat down, but Louis didn't reply and kept his gaze on the board stubbornly, even though nothing had changed in the last ten minutes and he had already copied all his notes. Two weeks of zero interaction and Harry just said 'hey'? Screw him, honestly. "No hey back?"

"Hey."

Harry chuckled softly as if Louis had made some sort of joke. Was he really so oblivious that he couldn't see that Louis didn't want to talk to him?

"You had a good weekend?" Harry asked, taking a pen out of his bag.

Louis shrugged.

Harry looked at him for a few seconds. "Right," he then mumbled, turning to the front of the class. "Hint taken."

And there it was. Guilt. Louis felt guilty for his harsh and abrupt behaviour. Harry probably was oblivious and thought they were friends who just talked every once in a while, instead of on the daily. He should ignore the guilt and just focus on the fact that it was for the best.

Yet he found himself making a small doodle in the corner of his notebook. It was a cat with cat-eye glasses, resembling their current teacher, and Louis accented a wedding ring on one of her paws. He added the words 'purr-fect' on the bottom and then ripped it out, subtly sliding it over his table till it reached Harry's.

He kept his gaze on the board, even though he watched Harry out of the corner of his eyes. The latter looked down with a frown, and after a moment, grinned when he understood the meaning behind the drawing. "Fur-miliar," he mumbled, which made Louis smile.

Then, the rest of the day, they didn't talk to each other anymore, even though they had a couple of classes together. Harry sat down beside other people, which proved to Louis that the only two times they had sat together was because Harry hadn't had a choice and not because he had wanted to sit next to Louis.

In fact, they didn't talk till a Wednesday afternoon again, when Louis found himself walking home, counting the yellow cars he passed for no reason other than to kill the time. He didn't want to count his footsteps anymore, that had become boring, so yellow cars were his next subject.

He was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder, which he found out belonged to Harry who grinned at him. "Hi."

"Hi," Louis replied, surprised that Harry was walking in the same direction as him, but mostly because Harry was talking to him. Willingly. That was something new entirely.

"You going home?" Harry asked, taking his hand off Louis' shoulder. He walked in slow steps, sort of similar to the way he talked, but that was probably only because Louis' legs were substantially shorter than his and he actually wanted to keep the same pace as Louis.

Louis nodded, faintly aware that a yellow car drove by and adding it to his count.

"I'm going to a mate's," Harry said, and Louis felt a bit stupid for not returning the question. Was it really that difficult to talk, Louis? Really?

"That's nice," he replied and wished a yellow car would drive him off the pavement at his short and disinterested sounding replies.

Harry glanced at him, the corners of his lips curling up in an amused smile. "You don't do this often, do you?" He asked. "Making small talk, I mean."

Louis shook his head, which proved Harry's point even further. "I've never really been good at social situations," he said, which immediately made him wonder if saying that was over-sharing.

"Those skills were put into your drawing," Harry said, which made Louis smile.

He'd never looked at it like that before. It made him feel better, even though he hadn't even been feeling down. His social skills had been replaced with his art skills. It was a nice thought. Maybe Harry wasn't that oblivious. "I... guess so, yeah."

The rest of the walk was spent with Harry complaining about his homework (which he never did). Louis would nod and shake his head, sometimes hum, but Harry never tried to get him to talk. He was more understanding than anyone had been in Louis' entire life. People usually tried to get Louis to talk, even pointing it out in irritation, but not Harry, who just talked and grinned as if they had been friends for years. It got Louis to think that Harry was a little bit special, in a way.

Louis ended the conversation when he abruptly paused in front of his house, causing Harry to stop in the middle of his sentence when he realised Louis was no longer beside him. "This where you live?"

Louis nodded.

"Nice place."

"Thanks."

After a moment, Louis noticed another yellow car drive by. "Twelve," he said, making Harry frown. His face was filled with amusement.

"Sorry?"

"I—the yellow cars," Louis said, a bit embarrassed as he scratched the back of his neck. "I counted them. Twelve."

Harry smiled, almost like he was amused, and shook his head a little. "Was I that boring?" He joked, which in turn made Louis smile.

"Maybe," he said.

Harry chuckled. "I'll see you around, yeah?"

Louis nodded.

"Alright. Bye, Louis," Harry said, giving Louis a lazy replica of an army salute and then continuing his own way down the pavement.

Why he chose to watch Harry walk away, Louis wasn't sure. There was just... something about the way Harry walked, something so peculiar. His torso leaned to the left as if one leg was just a bit shorter than the other, and there was a small spring in his step, long limbs that had grown too quick for the owner to get used to. Yet, all of it made him look cool and collected. He walked as if he owned the world, like it was his own runway.

It was completely opposite of Louis, who kept his head down and his steps rigid. Almost like he was afraid of the world, which, in a way, he was.

They were truly complete polar opposites.

And Louis didn't talk to him for the rest of the week. It was confusing for him. One moment they were being all chummy, and the next they were practically strangers. Louis got a smile from him when they saw each other in the hall, but that was it.

Louis wasn't sure what to make of it, whether he should be annoyed or indifferent to it.

On a Friday night, around ten pm, Louis was laying on his bed, scrolling through his phone and watching the Snapchat stories filled with parties and people hanging out with a tinge of envy. Still, he knew he'd rather be where he was right now than at a party from someone he didn't even know.

After successfully reminding himself how boring his life was, Louis discarded his phone on his bed and got up to walk over to his desk. He faintly noted that he should probably close his curtains, but then again, it wasn't like he had anything to hide.

His parents had yet to fight. During dinner, they had exchanged a couple of fairly polite words, but Louis knew that it was just a veil they were attempting to keep in front of eyes because they clearly didn't seem to realise that he could hear them fighting. His door wasn't thick enough to stop the sounds from getting into his room.

Louis stared at an empty page in his journal for a bit, trying to find some sort of inspiration to draw. He had a nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him to draw Harry, because he hardly ever drew characters with curls, but he didn't want to do that. He didn't want to let Harry be in his life when he wasn't even making an effort—not that Louis was making an effort either. At first, he thought about drawing a flower, but that also reminded him of Harry, so he went to draw a cat when—Harry  _again_. Why did he have such an impact on everything?

Harry seemed to be woven into everything Louis did the last three weeks, which was deeply frustrating for Louis. Why couldn't he get Harry out of his head?

Eventually, he decided to draw two intertwined hands, but before his pencil touched the paper, there was a knock. At first, Louis thought it was on his door, but then the knock repeated.

 _On his window_.

When Louis looked up, he realised that the universe truly had it out for him, because there, behind his window, was no other than the one person Louis  _didn't_  want to think about: Harry. His face was turned away, looking at something over his shoulder, but Louis easily recognised that bloody neck tattoo and the mop of curls and the lanky posture.

When Louis slid his window open, Harry turned his face to him. The first and only thing Louis could muster out was, "What the fuck, Harry?"

"Hi," Harry said, grinning sheepishly. "Just popping in, hope you don't mind, saw you through the window." He glanced over his shoulder. "Kind of need a place to hide, like, right now."

Louis' eyebrows shot up warily as Harry glanced over his shoulder  _again_ , clearly on edge by something. If Harry was being chased by thugs, Louis would rather not want to hide him, in the case that said thugs would find out and Louis would get hurt. Just because he can't get Harry out of his head for God knows what reason, didn't mean he was going to take that kind of risk. "Why?"

"'Cause I'm being chased by the cops and I don't want to get arrested again."

Again.  _Again_. Just— _again_.

Louis was at a bit of a loss for words so only stepped back, allowing Harry to climb in—Harry, who was being chased by cops and who had gotten arrested before. What the fuck was Louis thinking?

The moment Harry slid the window shut, a cop car suddenly appeared in their view, causing Harry to immediately drop to the floor. Louis just watched as the car drove by, both impressed and unimpressed all at the same time. He glanced down at Harry, who then released a breathless laugh and leaned the back of his head against the wall below the window, one leg bent and the other stretched out over the floor.

Louis took another step back, not really sure what to do with the situation at hand.

Harry looked at his movement and sent him a grin, his breathing heavy, which made it obvious that he had been running for a while before he got here. "Thanks," he said, his chest noticeably rising up and down. "I owe you one."

"What..." Louis started, clearing his throat when his voice not so discreetly cracked. "What did you do to get chased?"

"Got in a fight," Harry said, shaking his head to himself with a smile as though he was remembering a funny joke. "Was at this nightclub, some bloke made a comment. I hit him a couple of times, and then I hit the person that tried to pull me off. Turns out it was a cop."

Only then did Louis see Harry's bruised and slightly bloody knuckles one on of his hands. "Oh. Right," he said, wondering if maybe he should help Harry with his wounds. The word fight repeated itself in Louis' head a couple of times, and then he realised that it was because his own brain was trying to tell him that his parents had yet to fight.

"You should probably leave now," Louis said, suddenly desperate to get Harry out of the house. He didn't want people to know about his home situation, that was something he definitely didn't need. Especially not Harry.

"I'm just staying for a couple minutes," Harry said, taking his phone out of the pocket of his leather jacket. "Can't risk getting caught."

"You have to go, Harry."

Harry looked up with a confused frown. "Why? Do I bother you that much or summat?" He asked, and right after he finished talking, there was a crash downstairs.

Friday nights were always the worst. A whole week had passed, filled with cropped up stress and irritation that released itself every Friday evening in the form of broken plates and cups and yelling. The fights on Friday were horrible, and now Harry was here to witness it.

Louis bit his lip and closed his eyes as angry, muffled voices filled the room.

"Oh," Harry said, his face suddenly filled with guilt and sympathy. "That's why you wanted me to go."

"Yeah."

Louis sighed and sat down on the chair by his desk, ashamed by the fact that Harry was here to hear all of it, to witness all of the bad stuff.

"They do that often?" Harry asked carefully, whatever he was doing on his phone long forgotten as he put it down in his lap.

Louis only nodded.

"Can you, like—I mean, why?" Harry asked, but then quickly shook his head with a frown. "Nevermind, actually. None of my business."

"It's fine. Dad cheated on mum about a year and a half ago, they've been doing this since," Louis said, and it felt good to tell someone. It was like a small weight was lifted off his chest, like he could share a burden instead of having to carry it all on his own. It was nice to be able to talk about it, instead of keeping it cropped up inside. "They just refuse to get a divorce. Rather bring the mood down, apparently."

Harry smiled sympathetically. "Parents are overrated anyway," he said, a weak joke that somehow brought a small smile to Louis' face.

It made the air just a little bit lighter, even though Louis' parents were still audible. There was another crash and Louis automatically screwed his eyes shut. He could tell by the sound that it was a mug, and he could only hope that it wasn't his favourite.

"Don't you have something to drown it out?" Harry asked, making Louis open his eyes and notice a slightly concerned look in Harry's. "Like, music or summat?"

Louis shook his head. "Don't listen to music."

Harry's eyebrows shot up and his expression filled with bewilderment. "Fuck off, you what? You seriously don't?"

Louis shook his head again. There was another crash in the background. Another plate this time.

"Right, that's it," Harry said, getting up from the floor after grabbing his phone. "D'you have another chair for me to sit on?"

Louis got up and walked over to what was his 'clothes-chair'. It was a regular chair where he dumped all his clothes on if they were not yet fitted for the washing machine, like clothes that he had only worn for a day and that hadn't gotten dirty. Was it a hygiene issue?

After throwing the bundle of clothes on the floor, Louis carried the chair over to his desk and put it down beside his own.

"Thanks," Harry said, sitting down on the chair and waiting for Louis to do the same. There were earphones plugged into Harry's phone now, one already in Harry's ear. He held out the other one for Louis. "Put it in."

Louis crinkled his nose a bit. Then he heard his dad yell, "... _has no friends, he's_   _completely unwordly! All he does is draw!_ " and abruptly grabbed the other earphone. He ignored the pitiful look Harry gave him.

Then he waited, but Harry didn't start any music. "Well?" He asked quietly, but Harry grinned and shook his head.

"Start drawing," he said. "I'll fit the music to your art."

So Louis did as he said reluctantly, because he was suddenly very much desperate to drown out the voices downstairs. It took him a minute, but then he realised that he was drawing Harry. It seemed that his subconscious had won again, then. Did Louis even have control of anything in his own life anymore?

"Are you ever starting the music?"

"Hold on, I'm googling 'music for aesthetic obsessed artists'."

Louis elbowed a now chuckling Harry. "Ha-ha," he deadpanned, accenting Harry's jaw by thickening the line just a little bit in the corner.

And then the music started playing. It was soft, acoustic guitar and drums, a simple and almost sweet melody. " _You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere_ ," a female, husky voice started singing.

Louis was a bit surprised by the choice of song. He hadn't really taken Harry for a fan of Tracy Chapman, as he dressed as a heavy metal fan instead of a listener of the singer-songwriter genre. Still, though, Louis didn't mind it at all. The music was a calm, acoustic sound that managed the drown out the fight in the background, and quickly enough, Louis found that he was actually enjoying himself, his pencil dancing over the paper and Harry beside him.

Harry was sitting close enough for Louis to feel his body heat, but it was strangely... welcome, in a way. Louis usually didn't like to sit close to people, yet he didn't mind Harry at all. The latter wasn't being annoying or making Louis uncomfortable either, alternating between watching Louis draw and scrolling through his phone. Louis felt comfortable with Harry close. It was worth keeping in mind, because it had to mean something, right?

When Louis got to the mouth, he paused. His drawing had gotten a bit out of hand. He hadn't intended for it, but he had drawn Harry in a... suggestive manner. The jaw was drawn in such a way that the mouth could be opened in a moan, but Louis hadn't drawn it because he wanted to see Harry like that. He just drew it because.

He drew stuff that made people blush. Maybe he shouldn't draw any sort-of-friends like that, in positions and situations like those.

"Why'd you stop?" Harry suddenly asked, Fleetwood Mac playing through the earbuds. Something about going your own way, which was a little ironic, because that was something that the couple downstairs definitely weren't doing. It was also a song on an album written for and by people cheating on each other. Life was truly ironic.

Louis shrugged. "There's... it's weird, nevermind."

Harry leaned over so that their cheeks were only a few inches from touching. "That's me, yeah?" He asked, and Louis nodded. "It looks good. I need a mouth, though."

"That's—" Louis started, but then cleared his throat. "Don't be weirded out, though, once I'm done. I draw, like, unconventional things."

"I think that's the most I've ever heard you say."

Louis chuckled and turned his head away. He used to hate it, people pointing out his silence, but with Harry, he didn't mind it. He actually found Harry's comments funny, which was something to get used to. Louis was very much aware that if anybody else had made the joke, he'd been annoyed or insulted, which just proved that Harry was a little bit special, again.

So Louis continued drawing, aware that Harry didn't grab his phone again. He kept watching how Louis drew an opened mouth, a hint of the front teeth sticking out, and eyes that were screwed shut. He gradually got more nervous, expecting Harry to freak out at any moment, disgusted by what Louis drew, but it never came. Harry just kept watching as the music kept playing, and Louis kept drawing, sometimes subtly glancing at Harry to get the shape of his lips and eyes right.

When he was done, he discreetly exhaled and put his pencil down. Harry leaned over to take a better look, and Louis' heart picked up in a mantra of  _don't be freaked out, don't be freaked out_.

"That's sick," Harry mumbled, lifting the journal. "How do you that? There's, like, six lines on here."

Louis bit his lip to keep a smile down. Six lines was a maybe a bit of an exaggeration, there were definitely more. "You don't think it's weird?"

"I think it's brave. Shows you don't shy away from the real shit," Harry said, unaware of a now lightly blushing Louis staring at him in surprise. "People know you draw this?"

"At my old school," Louis said, knitting his brows together as he was reminded of the time they had somehow gotten hold of his journal and had made copies of one of the drawings, spreading them around the school. "People didn't really like them, though."

Harry glanced at him. "They bullied you?" He asked with a frown, and Louis nodded after a moment of hesitation. "Arseholes."

Louis grinned as Harry turned back to the drawing. "Can I see the rest? Or is it too personal?" He asked, his fingers playing with a corner of the page.

"Sure."

And so, Louis found himself watching Harry, who thumbed through the worn journal with an intrigued look. He didn't make any nasty comments, didn't make fun of any of it. He just looked and sometimes gave a compliment disguised as a curse, which made Louis smile.

The music had died out at some point, as had the fight downstairs, but neither had paid any mind to it.

And it took Louis a moment, but then he realised that, technically, he and Harry were hanging out. That they were doing what friends would do, no matter in how much of an unconventional way they were actually doing it.


	3. three.

 

𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖

 

The next week had the most unorthodox start Louis had ever gone through.

After the Friday night they had spent together looking at Louis' drawings and listening to music, Harry and Louis hadn't actually talked during the rest of the weekend. They hadn't exchanged phone numbers, something that Louis didn't realise until the next morning, so they really couldn't stay in contact.

Their lack of contact actually didn't last very long, however, because Harry approached Louis a Monday morning when the latter was by his locker and trying to pull out his English book, which had somehow gotten stuck behind the opening.

"Morning."

Louis turned his head to Harry in surprise, as he had just assumed they would go back to their barely-any-contact-friendship, and hadn't expected Harry to approach and talk to him. "Hi?"

"You sound surprised," Harry commented but didn't allow Louis to respond when he quickly continued. "Listen, can I ask you a favour?"

Louis leaned all his weight on his left leg, turning his body to Harry a bit more. "Depends on what it's for."

Harry grinned. "Right," he said and then leaned closer. "I sort of have something that I need to hide? I can't hide it in my own locker, but..."

"You able to hide it in mine," Louis finished for him, leaning back a bit because Harry was a little too close for his comfort. "What are you hiding?"

"Weed."

"Oh."

Harry grinned perilously. "So? Can I?"

Louis nodded dumbly, his mind screaming at him that he was making a really stupid mistake and that he shouldn't allow this to happen at all. He stepped back, forgetting about his English book and allowing Harry to take his place in front of his locker. Louis looked away as casually as he could so that he didn't seem suspicious, not too interested in having people get curious about whatever was happening at his locker.

"Why can't you hide it in your own?" He asked once Harry was done and shut Louis' locker, and Louis faintly remembered that his English book was still stuck in there.

"Kind of on the principal's radar," Harry said, turning to Louis. "Thanks, by the way. I owe you."

"Didn't you already owe me?"

"Shit, yeah. Guess I owe you twice."

A smile tugged on Louis' lips at the comically clumsy response. "How long does it need to stay there for?" He asked, nodding to his locker.

"Till Wednesday, that's when my buyer can get it," Harry casually said.

What did that even mean? Was Harry a dealer? How did he even get the drugs? What if he was a dealer? What would that mean for their 'friendship'?

"I'm not a dealer," Harry said with a slightly amused smile, clearly reading Louis' mind. "This is a one-time thing."

"It's none of my business," Louis said with a tight-lipped smile, unconsciously tugging on the sleeves of his hoodie. "No need to explain."

Harry looked him up and down as if he was checking him out or sizing him up, before nodding. "No snitching, yeah?"

"Yeah."

And then the bell rang. Louis remembered that he and Harry had History together, but wasn't really sure whether he should comment on it or not. Harry never sat next to him anyway, so why should he bother?

"History," Harry then said, taking away whatever Louis was doubting as they started their walk to the correct classroom. Apparently, Harry wasn't that much of a knob. "My favourite subject."

Louis smiled at the sarcasm. "So you didn't study?"

"Study for what?" Harry asked, which made Louis' eyebrows shoot up. Nevermind, he was definitely still a knob.

"The test?" He said, his lips slowly spreading into an amused grin when he saw the realisation sink in on Harry's expression. "You didn't, did you?"

Harry groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. "Fucking hell, I forgot," he muttered, sheepishly meeting Louis' eyes. "Can I cheat off you?"

Louis bit his lip, not too excited about the idea, but then again, Harry looked desperate and the green in his eyes just did something with Louis, so he found himself nodding. "Okay," he said, and Harry grinned.

"Lifesaver," he said just as they walked into the classroom. They walked to the back of the classroom where there were still seats left as barely anyone had arrived yet.

Louis realised that when they sat down, Harry sat with him not because he wanted to, but because he needed to,  _again_. It made him feel a bit slighted, because everything just started adding up the fact that Harry was using him. The weed in his locker, hiding Harry from the cops, letting Harry cheat off him... Louis was doing a lot of favours for him. A lot.

But Harry probably didn't mean it like that, right?

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

True to his word, Harry picked up the weed a Wednesday afternoon after the last bell, which relieved Louis immensely, as it was really starting to weigh down on his psyche. Hiding drugs in your locker made you a bit jumpy, to say the least, and Louis constantly had the idea that anyone who looked at him knew what was in his locker, even though that was impossible.

Should he have been surprised that Harry had yet another favour to ask him? He probably shouldn't.

"So, you know how we have French together?" Harry asked with a small smile, clearly more behind the seemingly innocent question.

Louis nodded, shrugging his jacket on and closing his locker. Obviously, he knew that they had French together, Harry had just never bothered to sit with him. Yeah, Louis wasn't as oblivious as Harry apparently seemed to think he was.

"Yeah, so I'm sort of failing and I need a tutor," Harry said, and immediately, Louis knew where the conversation was going. But he kept up a clueless facade and pretended like he didn't know what Harry was going to ask him. "I know you're pretty good at French, so I was wondering if maybe you could help me out?"

Louis stared at him for a couple of seconds, a bit in disbelief. "Four," he then said, causing Harry to frown. "That's my fourth favour to you."

"Is that a yes?"

After a moment of contemplation, Louis caved. What reason did he honestly have to say no? That he was too busy? They both knew he wasn't. Louis was the least busy person in the building.

"Fine."

Harry grinned and playfully nudged Louis' shoulder. "Thanks. Are you free tomorrow, after school?"

"I think we both know I am," Louis said with a slightly forced smile. He wasn't really on board with helping Harry, because as he had said, it would be his fourth favour so far. When was he even supposed to get Harry to return them? And what could he possibly do for Louis?

"Cool. We'll meet at the library here?" Harry asked, his eyes flickering to Louis' lips for a moment before he met Louis' eyes again.

Louis nodded.

And that was that. Harry gave him a bright grin and then told him, "See you tomorrow, Louis," and walked off, joining a small group further down the hall who greeted him enthusiastically.

Louis watched them for a couple of seconds. It was remarkable, how quickly and how easily Harry had become so popular. Everyone seemed to like him, and he seemed to be able to get along with everyone. It was no secret that Harry was pretty charming. He was good-looking, easy to talk to, nice to everyone and even athletic (they had PE together, Louis had seen an array of talents). He also had an aura of mystery around him, with his dark clothes and tattoos and tendency to hop from group to group and girl to girl without ever actually 'settling down'.

They were so different. How was it even possible for them to get along? They were polar opposites in almost every single way, yet they were able to talk and hang out without being uncomfortable. Didn't that mean at least something?

By the time it was a Thursday afternoon, Louis had practically wrecked himself with the amount of thinking he had done. It had been a lot, and it had been confusing and frustrating, but it had all come down to a conclusion: Harry only spoke to Louis when he had to (apart from the first time they met, but that didn't even count). Harry was using to Louis, whether Harry realised it or not.

And the conclusion really fucking sucked.

Louis got to the library first and sat down at one of the tables, taking out the books he was going to need to tutor Harry. He had no clue what exactly Harry needed help with: reading? Grammar? Use of language?

And then there was also the voice that was telling him to confront Harry with what he had figured out. He wasn't really sure about that one, as this was only a tutor session and not a therapy one.

Louis doodled on his notebook while he waited, and waited, and waited.

But Harry never showed up.

After waiting for forty-five minutes, Louis sighed and pretended like he wasn't hurt by the fact that he had been stood up, starting to gather his belongings. He shoved them in his bag with a bit too much violence, but he couldn't keep the anger from taking its hold.

God, what had Louis even been thinking? It was probably some stupid joke or something. And if it wasn't that, it just meant that Louis wasn't important enough to be remembered, even for something as simple as a bleeding tutor session. Harry could get fucked. Let him fail his French, see if Louis cared.

When he got to the exit of the library, it opened before he could open it himself, and lo and behold, Harry was behind it. Their eyes met, but instead of waiting for an explanation, Louis roughly brushed past him and started walking towards the exit of the school.

"Louis!" Harry called after him, but Louis didn't turn around. He heard footsteps and then he felt a hand on his shoulder that forced him to stop walking. He met Harry's eyes with a glare.

"Yeah, you regret it now, huh?" He said, pointedly shrugging Harry's hand off his shoulder.

Harry pulled a guilty expression. "I'm sorry, I forgot, I genuinely am sorry," he said, but Louis scoffed, although it was only to mask the hurt he felt at 'I forgot'. That's how important Louis was to him: so unimportant that Harry forgot about him. "Listen, can we just go back inside? I'm here now, yeah?"

"You don't get it, do you?" Louis said, trying to take a step forward, but Harry prevented him from walking away by stepping in front of him.

"Don't get wh—"

"That you're using me," Louis interrupted, narrowing his eyes a bit, ignoring the confusion in Harry's eyes;  _like he didn't know_. "I'm not daft. You only talk to me when you need something from me."

Harry frowned and shook his head. "That's not true, Louis. You know that."

 _Arsehole_. "Do I? You've been pretty clear in the way you treat me: for favours I'm important, but when it comes to being actual friends you're nowhere to be found."

"Like you're so much better," Harry said, narrowing his eyes a little and taking on a defensive stance by crossing his arms in front of his chest. "You barely talk to me."

"Because I barely talk in general," Louis said, slightly sad that  _oh, Harry didn't understand after all, then_.

"Sure. You constantly give me these half-arsed answers like I'm not worth your time," Harry said. "You've never approached me either, have you?"

"That's bec—"

"And you never ask me to hang out. You're not much better of a friend than you apparently think I am. You do nothing friends do either."

"Because I've never had friends before!" Louis suddenly exclaimed, the words leaving his lips before he could stop them. The hall was suddenly eerily quiet, Harry watching Louis with shock-filled eyes.

He probably shouldn't have said that. It wasn't fun to admit, and it made him seem like some sort of victim, which he also hated. He didn't want to be victimised, especially not in front of Harry.

Louis sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "I've never—I don't know how this stuff works," he said, keeping his gaze on the floor and, for some reason, feeling like a child. He scoffed humourlessly, shaking his head a little. "Just—whatever. Maybe we just shouldn't bother trying to be friends. It's clearly not working out."

And the words actually hurt a bit to say, so Louis didn't bother waiting for a reply and turned around, practically running out of the school and leaving a perplexed Harry behind.

When he got off the school grounds he broke into a sprint, running as if he could physically outrun his feelings. Wouldn't that be a dream?

By the time he slammed the front door close tears were pricking his eyes, spilling when Louis closed his eyes and slid down the door, ending up on the floor. The house was silent, the air colder than Louis was used to as if his mood affected it.

He wasn't really sure what happened, but he just started crying. The strongest sense of self-loathing washed over him that it almost made him feel like he was unable to breathe.

Why did he have to fuck everything up? Why did he have to be so difficult? Harry could've been his friend, they could've had a proper friendship, but then he just has to go and fuck everything up, not even allowing Harry to apologise; who, now Louis reflects, actually seemed genuinely apologetic.

_Why didn't you allow him to talk? - You did the right thing, he's a bad person - Don't you want friends? Do you even deserve them? - Harry only used you - You're selfish for not allowing him to explain - Maybe he had a good reason? - You just had to be arrogant and run off - Are you seriously still surprised that everyone hates you?_

_Everyone hates you._

Louis sobbed and shakes his head as if he could physically shake his thoughts out, but it didn't work and it just kept repeating itself over and over again.  _Are you seriously still surprised that everyone hates you?_

The first person who actually didn't treat Louis like an abnormality, even after seeing his drawings, Louis just had to insist on pushing away. God, he didn't even deserve friends anymore. His own parents hardly talked to him, what made him think that anyone else would?

But Harry talked to him. So many times. And he wasn't even forced to do that. You don't have to talk to the person you sit next to, yet Harry did, and he complimented Louis and they even had an inside joke consisting out of cat puns. That was friendship, so why did Louis brain constantly insist that  _no, you weren't friends, you don't deserve friends_.

Louis liked being alone. He liked to walk to school alone, to sit at home on Friday nights alone, to read books alone, all because it gave him the time to think and the opportunity to set his mind free.

But right there, sat on the floor with tears streaming down his face, he realised that he absolutely detested feeling lonely.

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

Thanks to some very strong embarrassment about showing a bit too much of his real self to Harry and some thorough emotional exhaust, Louis didn't go to school the next day. To distract himself from the fact that he was just being a coward he told himself that it was a Friday which meant that it was almost weekend anyway, so what's one extra day, right?

The day was spent wallowing in bed, the sheets pulled up to Louis' nose so that he didn't suffocate, although it sounded like a hell of a death, to die in bed. He could already imagine the headlines for tomorrow:  _Teen Dies Doing What He Loves_. Would his parents be sad if he were to die right now? Would they even notice before tomorrow? What would happen during his funeral? He's got a grandmother and an aunt he only talks to during Christmas (a quick phone call to exchange pleasantries) and his parents to come to his funeral, but who else would come? The neighbours he never talked to? Classmates? Teachers?

He'd have a rather tedious funeral if he can't even come up with more than four people to invite. He pushed the next question far away to the back of his mind when it rudely interrupted his imagining of the headstone engraving.

Would Harry come?

Even though he didn't want to allow Harry a place in his mind, he somehow constantly managed to wriggle himself into every single one of Louis' thoughts. When Louis thought about what he was going to eat for lunch—even though he'd rather not leave his bed, he still had to eat—he wondered what Harry's favourite food was. When Louis went to draw after eating, he found himself drawing a character with curls and lips shaped suspiciously much like Harry's—that made him wonder next how good of a kisser Harry was, and how he kissed, but those thoughts got demolished as quickly as they appeared.

Why the hell should Louis care about Harry's kissing technique? Louis didn't have feelings for Harry, and most likely never would, so  _why should he care_? Harry probably wasn't into guys anyway.

Nevermind that Louis was. Although, he has never been quite sure what exactly his sexuality was. All he knew was that he didn't care much for genders. Male, female, neither, someone in the middle of transition... he didn't care for it. When he was younger, he thought everyone felt like that, that everyone could fall for everyone and there were no problems with that.

But at age nine he found out about homophobia, and then about the fact that his male classmates only wanted to kiss girls and vice versa, and he realised that whatever his mindset was, definitely wasn't the default setting.

After a night of extensive googling at age thirteen, Louis had come across a lot of sexualities. Homo- and heterosexuality were out the window from the start. Bisexuality just wasn't exactly it either, because when you were bi you had still had a preference. Pansexuality seemed to be the most accurate, but Louis still wasn't on board with any of it.

Eventually, he had settled on the idea that labels sucked anyway, and that he didn't have to label his sexuality because it was his and no one else's, and as long as he understood his own sexuality, he didn't need to label it. He fell in love for himself, not for other people, and his sexuality wasn't for the public, it was for him. It was that simple.

And if anyone ever asked Louis 'what' he was (which had yet to happen), he'd tell them bisexual, because that was the easiest answer and didn't need explaining; despite the fact that pansexual was more accurate, Louis knew that not a lot of people had heard about it and that he didn't want to end up explaining everything all the time. People could believe he was bisexual, that was fine with him: it was nobody's business but his own anyway, and besides, he knew better.

By the time Louis was finished with his drawing and was holed up in bed again, he found himself going to Instagram. He didn't use the app much, simply because he had nothing to post about. He had around forty followers, which are only classmates who probably secretly took a bit of pity on him and some fan accounts and meme accounts that had only followed in the hope that Louis would follow back.

There were no pictures on his account. Not even his profile picture had him in it: it was just some grungy aesthetic picture of someone lighting a rose on fire, which he had found on Tumblr.

He wondered if Harry had an Instagram. He probably did.

So Louis searched for Harry and didn't add a surname because he didn't know Harry's. There were, of course, hundreds of accounts with 'Harry' somewhere in the usernames and Louis didn't feel like scrolling through all of it, so he deleted the search and went to another account. It belonged to a girl from his school who he knew sat with Harry during a lunch a couple of times, so maybe she followed him. Not that Louis kept track of who Harry sat with or anything.

He typed Harry's name in the search bar above the list of accounts the girl follows, and to his satisfaction, there are three usernames with the name 'Harry' in them. The first one was an account from a girl named Harriet, the second one was the footballer Harry Kane, and the third was from someone with the username 'harrystyles'.

And, as it turned out, it was him. Louis found his Instagram account. It's both with pride and a bit of shame for being such a stalker.

Harry's got a little over 800 followers and around 28 pictures, something Louis immediately envied him for. Of course, he was popular on social media too, why keep it fair for losers like Louis?

Louis was about to tap on the first picture, but then abruptly paused: he was acting stupid. What was is he thinking, stalking Harry on social media? He was angry at Harry, was supposed to hate him, yet he was spending some serious time finding his account and was about to spend more on looking at the pictures.

His brain started reasoning with him a bit;  _nobody needed to know_. He could just look through the pictures and not follow Harry, who would never find out about it.

So Louis tapped on the first picture. It's a picture of Harry, a Smirnoff Vodka bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other, one corner of his upper lip stretched up to reveal his teeth and his head tilted back just a little so that it seems like he's looking down on whoever took the picture. Louis reluctantly admitted to himself that it was a genuinely hot picture. It was a bit blurry and taken with flash in the middle of the night, so it had a bit of aesthetic as well.

The second picture was even more blurry, also taken with flash and clearly late at night. Harry's in the middle of a laugh, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth opened. There's a guy beside him with blond hair and a lip ring, his head thrown back in an equally intense laugh.

Something pulled inside Louis' chest when he looked at the post. They're clearly in the middle of a joke, a picture snapped at exactly the right time and showcasing genuine fun and friendship. Louis found that the tug in his chest was a longing for the same thing, to laugh with friends and to just enjoy life.

All the other pictures are similar, with Harry posing, some with friends, or pictures that were taken without his knowledge. They're almost always at night or at some sort of social gathering like a party or a festival, revealing something Louis already knew: Harry was a very social person, the exact polar opposite of Louis.

There are only three selfies, all of which are stupidly hot. Louis doesn't really know what to make of the fact that Harry doesn't smile in any of them. The most recent out of all three had him with a neutral expression, as though he was posing for a magazine, and the one after that had him with his lower lip between his teeth, which Louis stared at maybe a bit too long. The oldest one was with his tongue stuck out, although it was a bit lazily done so his tongue was really just hanging out.

Louis nearly liked it but caught himself just in time. His face flushed in relief when he managed to stop himself, especially when he saw that the picture was ten months old, which would've been very embarrassing on his part, to like a picture that old when they're fighting.

Which brought him to his next obstacle: should he follow Harry? He wouldn't do it right now, because that would be weird considering their current situation, but maybe in the nearby future? Louis knew that Harry would notice it if he were to follow him because it's not like he's got so many followers he wouldn't notice it when someone would add to the number.

It took him a while to actually leave Harry's profile. The thing that made him leave was his brain suggesting to create another account and follow Harry with that one—it was a bit too stalkerish for Louis. Instead, he started going through the accounts that Harry had tagged in certain pictures. Recurring names are 'Liam Payne' and 'Niall Horan', and there are also a few with someone named 'Luke Hemmings' and only one, clearly very old picture with a certain 'Zayn Malik'.

There was an angel on Louis' shoulder that was telling him to quit stalking already, to put his phone away and busy himself with the book he started on a couple of days ago, but there was also a devil that kept encouraging him to continue stalking and figure out Harry's social circle, in case there was something scandalous hidden in the details.

There wasn't anything too shocking. A lot of alcohol and cigarettes (some of which were probably spliffs) and a whole lot of different people, but nothing that had Louis falling off the bed with a pounding heart.

He didn't actually put his phone away until he was called down for dinner, which was, as always, spent in complete silence. The only words that were exchanged were that between him and his mother, who asked if he was feeling better, to which he had replied that he was and that he was probably going back to school next Monday.

His parents had a fight around ten. Louis sat at the top of the stairs and listened in. It started with the fact that his dad hadn't vacuumed the living room as he had promised, and that his mum hadn't done the laundry, and it escalated from there to something about that Louis ' _doesn't do shit around the house!_ '. It ended on the note that Louis was just a lazy teenager with not enough social interaction who needed to start taking some responsibility for tasks around the house.

By the time he was in bed his eyes were burning, his cheeks were red and his skin hurt from wiping the tears away.

Whatever.


	4. four.

 

𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣

 

Louis had always detested Sundays. They were just days that he had nothing to do on, which gave him enough time to dread the upcoming week. It consequently brought his mood down and made him feel pessimistic and bitter—not to mention that those two emotions weren't uncommon for him.

He's spent the majority of the day staring out the window, watching the people walk by from his spot on the window sill. Most of the people that walk by are women with children, going to the park Louis often visited as well. Some were going to church, a place Louis had never visited before: he wasn't religious, so he'd never had a reason to go.

When he got too bored by people-watching, he watched his favourite movie 'Grease' again, humming along to the songs and mouthing the lines while imagining himself as one of the characters, living life to the full instead of spending his Sundays holed up in his room every week. He felt a bit like Sandy Olsson: she was relatable to him, with her naive views about love and friendships and her obliviousness to the 'bad parts' about the teenagers she hung around with.

Not to say Louis was naive, he just... he got her, for some reason. They would've been friends, had she been real by some miracle.

Close to the climax of the movie, when Sandy said her infamous 'Tell me about it, stud' line, Louis' phone buzzed. When he grabbed it and looked at the screen, he nearly fell off his bed.

It was a text. He got a text message from someone. It was just a number, which meant that someone had got hold of Louis' phone number somehow.

**_hi Louis_ **

It was all it said. Louis bit his lip as he read the message a couple of times, his mind automatically telling him that someone was pulling some stupid joke on him. Catfishing, maybe? Still, he replied, because he had actually never been texted out of the blue and was a bit curious about who it was.

**Who is this?**

The reply came almost instantly.

**_Harry_ **

It had Louis' heart stuttering. He can't remember giving Harry his phone number. Actually, he never had, so how? How did Harry get his number?

 **How did you even**  
**get my number?**

**_asked around_ **

**So you're admitting**  
**you're a stalker?**

 **_;)_ **  
**_can i call u? hate texting_ **  
**_it's too impersonal_ **

**No**

It shouldn't have surprised Louis that Harry called anyway. It didn't mean Louis actually picked up, but then again, that didn't mean Harry gave up easily. He just called again, and with a lot of reluctance, Louis picked up, because opposed to Harry, he actually hated talking on the phone. He ought it a very awkward thing. It also forced him to respond vocally, something he wasn't too keen on doing a lot.

"Personal enough for you?" He said as soon as he put the phone to his ear, pausing the movie and sitting up.

Harry chuckled on the other side, the sound a bit off due to the phone. " _Yes, thank you_ ," he said, amusement in his voice. " _What are you doing right now?_ "

Louis glanced at his laptop. "Watching a movie."

" _Which one?_ "

"Why are you talking to me?"

" _I asked you a question first_."

"Sounds like a 'you'-problem."

Harry's laugh cackled through the phone, and Louis didn't like it when he had to fight a smile at the sound. " _Fine_ ," Harry said when he stopped laughing again. " _I called to apologise. I thought about what you said, and you're right. I've been acting like a prick towards you."_  
  
Even though he didn't know Harry very well, he still didn't expect him to apologise so quickly. It wasn't even his fault, perse, because it was kind of Louis' too.

"Oh."

" _Now you say, 'I'm sorry too, Harry, you're the most amazing_ _lad_ _in the world'_."

Louis had to bite his lip to hold a grin down, slightly annoyed that Harry could create a smile on Louis' face so easily. "And I'm hanging up."

" _No, come on_ ," Harry said, a grin evident in his voice. " _You haven't answered my question yet_."

Fair enough, really. Louis glanced at the screen, the movie paused on a scene with John Travolta and Olivia-John Newton dancing in a funhouse. "Die Hard."

" _You're such a liar_."

Louis rolled his eyes, another smile tugging on the corners of his lips. "Fine. Grease."

There was a hum on the other side. " _With the singing?"_  Harry asked, and Louis nodded. There was a small silence. " _Louis, I can't see you. You have to answer with words, remember?_ "

Louis blushed furiously, successfully embarrassed by his own stupidity. "Yes, with the singing."

" _Thank you for answering_ ," Harry said, and Louis could hear the grin. " _Can I ask you a question?_ "

"No."

" _Are you still angry at me?"_

Louis held the phone away from his ear and mimed a 'fuck you' at it, albeit being secretly endeared. "Maybe."

" _Do you have to be so vague all the time?_ " Harry asked with a chuckle, and the sound somehow made Louis smile.

"I'm not angry," he said. "Maybe annoyed. And I feel a bit used. But not angry, per se."

" _Is that why you haven't apologised to me yet?"_  Harry asked, a teasing tone in his voice which had Louis scoffing.

"I'm not going to apologise, I don't even want to talk to you."

" _That's also a lie_ ," Harry said, sounding confident in his statement. " _You could've hung up the moment I called, but you're still talking to me_."

With a defeated breath, Louis dropped on his back and stared at the ceiling, realising that Harry had him more figured out than that Louis had himself. "Whatever."

There was another chuckle. " _Very noncommittal_."

Louis bit his lip. "Don't you have anything better to do?" He asked, which wasn't meant to sound as self-deprecating as it did. "Like, a party or summat?"

There was a small silence. " _Do you want me to hang up?_ "

Louis thought about it. It wasn't that, because he actually, secretly, enjoyed talking to Harry. It was a nice way to spend a Sunday night, a lot better than imagining to be a character in Grease.

"No."

Which actually was the truth.

" _Then why do you always insist on pushing me away_?" Harry asked, his tone of voice quieter as he asked the serious question. " _You're an oxymoron. You don't want me to hang up but you keep telling me you're going to_."

Louis swallowed thickly. "Maybe I'm just a prick."

" _I don't believe that_."

"What do you want me to answer, then?"

" _The truth?_ "

It wasn't like Harry deserved the truth. Louis would rather be a bit closer to him before he started spilling any personal details that could result in his possible downfall if Harry were to expose them. Would Harry be capable of doing something like that? Louis didn't know him well enough to determine his capabilities of keeping secrets or actually emotionally hurting people.

"How do you know if it's the truth or not?" He said, half aware that his laptop went into standby.

 _"I can tell when you lie_ ," Harry replied. " _You pause for, like, a second, before you answer_."

Nobody had noticed that before. Not even Louis had. He supposed it was a bit difficult for people to know about the pause before a lie if they had never even heard him talk. "I didn't realise."

There were a few seconds that went by in complete silence, but Louis didn't find it uncomfortable. If anything, it was almost nice. It reminded him of the first time he met Harry; in the park all those nights ago. They had sat in silence as well, something remarkable as they had been only strangers.

" _Sorry for keeping you_ ," Harry suddenly said, abruptly ending the conversation. " _I'll let you sleep_."

Louis hated the disappointment he felt—he was still supposed to be annoyed with Harry and should distance himself from him, not have meaningful silences over the phone. "Oh. Yeah. Okay," he said, a few many placations with the disappointment far too obvious in his voice.

" _I'll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?_ "

"Probably not," Louis said, releasing a small sigh. "You only talk to me in History. I get it, though, you've got all these friends to talk to."

Harry sighed and it sounded a bit sad, but Louis couldn't decide if the sadness was pity or regret. " _I meant it when I said I was sorry, Louis, seriously_."

Regret, then.

"I know," Louis said, and he meant it too. He didn't really say meaningless things to Harry, whatever that meant for their friendship. "I know."

 _"See you tomorrow?_ "

"Yeah. See you tomorrow."

" _Good night, Lou_."

There were a few seconds in which neither of them hung up and just listened to each other's breathing, but eventually, it was Louis who ended the phone call. He stared at his phone for a while, eventually adding Harry to his contacts and putting a smiley face behind his name. There was a part of him that doubted whether Harry was really going to talk to him tomorrow. Still, Louis decided not to make a judgement too quickly: Harry might surprise him.

The thoughts made it difficult to fall asleep, but there was one that kept bringing a smile to his face, that gave Louis the ability to ignore the fight happening downstairs.

 _Lou_.

Then, his phone suddenly buzzed.

_**instagram: harrystyles is now following you.** _

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

When Louis got downstairs the next morning, he wasn't too elated to find his dad instead of his mum at the breakfast table. He'd rather spend a Monday morning with his mother, who didn't pressure him to talk, than with his father, who always got him into a bad mood.

Every time Louis looked at the man in front of him, all Louis could think of was that he had cheated on Louis' mother. That he had broken her heart. He couldn't look at him and not be reminded of those things. There was a part of him that wanted to keep his dad around, but there was another part that never wanted to see or talk to him again. It was conflicting and frustrating, to put it plain simple.

"Morning," his dad said when he noticed Louis, who immediately continued to the kitchen.

"Morning," he replied in a mumble, although it was so quiet that the first part of the word fell away, leaving Louis only muttering '—ning'.

He grabbed his yoghurt (peach this time) and sat down at the breakfast table, choosing the seat furthest away from his dad. "Where's mum?"

"Had an audit," his dad replied, his gaze focused on the newspaper in front of him. Louis was used to his parents using, what he had dubbed, 'business language', which were difficult words that had to do with their jobs. An audit pretty much came down to being an official examination of the accounts of a business. It sounded so profoundly boring that Louis begged the heavens he'd never have to do the same.

They didn't say anything else to each other, Louis focused on his yoghurt container and his dad on the newspaper (something about the economy—plain boring). It wasn't an unusual occurrence for the two of them not to talk. At this point, they were just strangers living in the same house until one of them would decide to leave, which would be Louis going off to college or his dad finally getting a divorce.

Louis hoped it would be the last. It wasn't like he wished heartbreak upon his parents, but he was just so tired of their endless fights and constant bad moods. The current situation made nobody happy. A divorce would be tough, but it would just end the terrible mood that was always thick in the air. Just like ripping a bandage off, it was something that needed to be done quick and easy, not prolonged and only making the pain worse.

But what did Louis know, right? He was only a teenager.

It was a rare occurrence for them to share breakfast. Usually, his father would be gone already. On Tuesdays, his father always left an hour earlier than usual, claiming that he had to go to a different office for his work, which was a forty-five-minute drive, a half hour longer than his usual drive through town to his regular building. Louis had always doubted the validity of that, but he was too tired and too unbothered to try and find out whether it was true.

When he got to school, he wasn't too keen on the fact that Harry was waiting for him at his locker. Harry wasn't the problem: the girl that was standing with him was. Louis did not want to witness Harry chatting someone up at eight am on a Monday morning.

So, he watched from a small distance instead. The girl put a hand on Harry's bicep, laughing at something Harry said, who looked very pleased with himself. When the bell rang, Harry kissed her cheek before she walked away, which, for some reason, gave Louis an odd feeling in his stomach.

Harry didn't walk away from his locker, which made it clear that he was waiting for Louis, who eventually approached him— _no_ , he approached his locker, not Harry, he just happened to be there.

"Morning," he said, and Harry gave him a grin.

"Ready for History?" He asked and Louis shrugged, pulling his books out of his locker. The hallway was already clearing, only a couple of late students hurriedly grabbing their books from their respective lockers. "Is that a yes or a no?"

Louis gave Harry a look. "It's neither."

Harry's grin widened, and he suddenly grabbed Louis' wrist. "Let's skip," he said, causing Louis to frown.

"Skip History?"

"And the rest of the day."

It was a tempting idea, but Louis didn't see himself actually doing it. He was too much of a good student to skip class, and besides, his dad was home, the school might call. It would just result in a thorough fighting session once Louis would come home. "I don't know."

"It wasn't a question," Harry said, pulling the books out of Louis' hands and stuffing them back into his locker, closing it afterwards. "Come on."

Louis didn't follow him immediately, a bit taken aback by the entire situation, so Harry grabbed his wrist again and started tugging him along. Louis let himself get dragged out of the school, paying mind to what he knew was going to be a fight once he got home—would his dad find out, that was. "What if we get caught?"

"Too bad."

That wasn't an answer Louis was looking for. He was a person who liked a schedule for the day so that he knew exactly what he was going to be doing at which moment and what he could expect, so suddenly skipping and not knowing the outcome was completely out of his comfort zone.

"Where are we going?" He asked as they left the school grounds, Harry releasing his wrist when he finally started walking on his own.

"I thought about what you said," Harry said, glancing at Louis. "How you never had friends before?"

Louis blushed in embarrassment and looked down at the ground. Not exactly something he wanted to be reminded of, to say the least.

"Anyway, I thought I'd bring some change into that," Harry continued, noticing Louis' uncomfortable state and not allowing him to wallow in it. "I'm introducing you to some of my mates."

Louis bit his lip, instantly nervous about the idea of hanging out with a bunch of strangers. "Don't they have school too?"

"Most of them are drop-outs, some already finished school," Harry said. "And some are skipping, like us."

It made Louis wonder about the crowd Harry hung out with. If the majority were drop-outs and habitual class skippers, they had to be at least slightly similar in appearance to Harry. Or was that just prejudiced of him, to think like that?

"Are you nervous?" Harry asked, giving Louis a one-over. Why did he have to be so good at reading Louis? It was unfair. "You don't have to be. They're easygoing."

"But _I'm_ not," Louis mumbled, a bit self-conscious. "I'm like a... an uptight stick or something."

Harry threw his head back with a laugh. Somehow, the sound made Louis smile and calmed him down just a little bit. "Pretty sure that's not true," Harry said, nudging Louis' arm. "An uptight stick wouldn't draw the things you draw, right?"

Louis didn't know how to reply. It was a fair point, which was a bit annoying because it just proved that Harry was a lot smarter than Louis had estimated before. "Where are we going?" He chose to ask again, not-so-discreetly avoiding the topic of his art and repeating his question from earlier.

From the grin playing on Harry's lips, the latter seemed to know exactly what Louis was doing, although he didn't point it out. "There's this abandoned baseball field just outside of town," he said. "It's like our spot, I guess?"

Louis knew what he was talking about. The baseball club ran out of money a couple of years ago after the town's council stopped funding it. They were losing members already, but the cut in funding meant its end. Louis hadn't known that the field was still there; he had thought that it would've been replaced by a new neighbourhood or something similar by now.

"Why?" He asked.

"Why—what? Why that place?" Harry asked, to which Louis nodded. "Don't know. Nobody goes there, so it's a good place if we want to get high."

It made Louis' heartbeat speed up. He wasn't entirely daft, he knew Harry smoked more than just cigarettes (why else would he have weed he needed to hide?) but it was still startling to hear, especially the casual tone of voice that joined it.

"We don't have to worry about cops," Harry continued casually, unaware of Louis' response to his words. "And we all live in these cramped flats, so it's nice to get out of those every once in a while."

"You don't live with your parents?" Louis asked, remembering how Harry had referred to his mother in the past tense, before correcting it to the present tense. Did it mean that something had happened between him and his mother?

From the way Harry muttered a curt, "Yeah," it was clear to Louis that there was definitely something more to the story. He didn't push Harry to talk about it: he knew firsthand how irritating that could be.

The rest of the walk to the field was in silence, although Louis wouldn't call it an uncomfortable one. He found it a regular occurrence between them, comfortable silences. Not that he minded them. He liked it, but that was probably because he didn't like talking—so why did he talk to Harry so much, and so easily?

They passed a house with a pink front door, which had Louis feeling a bit amused. "Pink door?"

"I know, odd choice," Harry said with a chuckle. "Pretty sure the place is abandoned. Never seen anybody enter or leave. We use it as a landmark, you know, so we know when to go into the trees."

There was an itch of curiosity within Louis now. It was a small mystery now, the abandoned house with the pink front door.

He couldn't dwell on it for very long, forced to watch his step when Harry suddenly followed a narrow path into a small area filled with trees. There were roots sticking up here and there, but Harry clearly knew the path well as he walked through it at a regular pace that Louis hardly kept up with, struggling not to trip and fall.

They arrived at a fence after a minute or so, proving that the trees were only there to hide the field from the road, and there was a large cut in the bottom of the fence. Harry lifted the corner and motioned to the hole that appeared.

"Watch your head," he only said, affirming Louis' thoughts about having to crawl through the small gap. He did as Harry wanted and was quick to wipe the dirt off his knees when he stood up again. Harry crawled through it in what Louis thought was a far more masculine manner, if crawling over the ground could even be considered masculine.

Louis could see a couple of people their age sat in one of the dugouts, clearly having fun, talking and laughing. Nerves spiked his body again and caused him to nervously fidget with his ring finger, turning an invisible ring. It was a tick he had developed over the years, which had disappeared after he had gotten used to the school he was currently enrolled in. Now it was back, and Louis just wasn't sure what that meant.

"Don't be nervous."

Harry was staring at his hands, so Louis quickly stopped. "Is it that obvious?"

"Kind of," Harry said, a grin tugging on the corners of his lips. "I told you before, they're easy. You're nervous for nothing."

"My introverted-self disagrees," Louis muttered, a bit provoked by the apathetic words from Harry. Well, maybe apathetic went a bit too far, but indifferent was quite accurate.

Harry put an arm around Louis' shoulder, pulling Louis with him towards the group of teenagers. "I have some advice," he said, making Louis quirk an eyebrow. "Fake it till you make it."

"That's terrible advice," Louis said. Harry only squeezed his shoulder before letting go entirely. Whether that was because Louis was now walking beside him without needing to be tugged along or because they were close to the friend group was something Louis didn't have time to figure out.

"Lads," Harry said, hopping over the small fences in front of the dugout and pointing to Louis. The teenagers stopped their conversation and all eyes landed on Louis, who wanted to disappear immediately. "This is Louis. He's a mate of mine."

Louis got a few waves and a couple of hellos and learned how it felt to be a complete stalker when he recognised all of them from Harry's Instagram.

"Louis, this is Niall, that's his girlfriend Barbara," Harry said, introducing Louis to a tattooed, blue-eyed, blond guy sat on the bench that gave him a wide grin. There was a girl sitting beside him dressed in a pristine school uniform, and she was easily one of the most beautiful people Louis had ever met with her long, brown hair, full lips and arched eyebrows.

"That's Liam," Harry continued, pointing to a guy sitting on top of the small fence in front of the bench, and who Louis thought resembled a bit of a puppy. His brown eyes had a hint of crinkles in the corners and he had brown, quiffed up hair, his mouth turned into a friendly smile.

"Nice to meet you," he said, the first person to say something to Louis so far.

"This is Luke," Harry said, putting a hand on the shoulder of a blond guy with a lip ring, who Louis remembered the most from Harry's Instagram and who was sitting beside Niall in the dugout.

They all looked friendly and harmless, although their tattoos took away some of that friendliness and created something that was a bit intimidating. Harry was easily the most tattooed out all of them, although the three other guys were not exactly lacking in ink either. Barbara, the only girl there, didn't have any—at least, no visible ones.

"Nice to meet you, Louis," she said with a warm smile, repeating Liam's words from earlier.

"You too," Louis mumbled, shuffling on his feet and fidgeting with his ring finger again.

Harry chuckled, and transferred his hand from Luke's shoulder to Louis'. "Louis here is a bit shy," he said, which wasn't something Louis was too happy about. "So let's try to make him feel welcome, yeah?"

"Don't scare him off, you mean?" Niall asked with a grin on his face that was clearly rooted in amusement. Great.

Barbara tutted and lightly smacked Niall's chest with the back of her hand, rolling her eyes with a fond look. "Don't be rude, Ni," she said, returning her gaze to Louis. "Sorry, Louis, these guys just lack basic human decency." She put a hand beside her mouth as if she was trying to hide it from everyone else, leant a bit towards Louis and said in a big stage-whisper: "They have to maintain that bad-boy image, you see."

Louis decided he was in love.

"It's not an image," Niall said, adding a dramatic sigh and playing along with Barbara's theatrics. "We  _are_  bad-boys."

Everyone laughed, though Louis only chuckled. There was already something in the back of his mind, telling him that he wanted to leave now. It wasn't like the people in front of him were intentionally trying to make him uncomfortable, but Louis still felt it. The biggest problem was probably the fact that it wasn't even nine am yet and that there was an entire day ahead for Louis to feel uncomfortable in.

Barbara patted the spot beside her to usher Louis to sit down next to her, so Louis did, after a few seconds of hesitation. He watched how Harry leaned against the fence beside Liam, his fingers curling around the horizontal iron pole, and Louis didn't understand why he had to tear his eyes away from the sight of Harry's hands doing  _that_ motion.

"Do you and Harry go to the same school?" Barbara asked, twisting her upper body so that it was turned to Louis, who nodded. "That's great! Are you guys in the same class?"

"A couple," Louis said, his fingers playing with a string on his shirt, twisting it around his own finger and then untwisting it again, an endless cycle. "He, uh, convinced me to skip today. We're supposed to be in History right now."

Niall made a disgusted sound. "I hate History," he said, and Harry laughed.

"You're not even in school anymore, mate. "

"So? Doesn't mean I can't hate it."

When Louis glanced at Harry, he found the latter's eyes already on him. Instead of looking away, like Louis expected, Harry just quirked an eyebrow. The eye-contact became too much for Louis—what was new, honestly—and had him looking away, focusing his gaze on Barbara again.

He was reminded of her immaculate school uniform, which was clearly from a much more posh and prestigious school than his own. "Which... which school do you go to?" He asked Barbara, his voice awkwardly cracking when he said the first word in the simple sentence.

Barbara smiled warmly, clearly set on trying to make Louis comfortable around her, something he was silently grateful for. "'Creative Blessings'. It's a private school," she said and rolled her eyes. "Religious as all fuck, of course. Can't even breathe without hearing about the Lord and how we're his blessings and all that."

Louis wanted her as his best friend now. She was much cooler than he could ever be, but that was the whole reason why.

"Is that why you're skipping?" He asked.

Barbara nodded. "Don't have to worry about getting in trouble either." She pulled a mockingly high-class face, twisting her voice into an obnoxiously high tone. "My daddy dearest owns the school."

Louis chuckled along with the others. She was definitely the coolest person ever.

"The only one who actually has some money here," Luke said with a grin.

When Louis looked over to him, his eyes were drawn to his feet—they were oddly close to Harry's. Louis understood that the space they were in wasn't colossal, but their feet were unnecessarily close. One of Harry's was on top of Luke's, who had his other foot outstretched far enough so that it was almost hooked behind Harry's other foot. It was like they were playing footsie.

Were they dating?

There wasn't any time to dwell on the thought when Liam suddenly sighed and clapped his hands together. "Let's get food or summat," he said, and everyone agreed without hesitation.

They climbed out of the dugout and started heading back to the hole in the fence, Louis trailing behind them and feeling incredibly out of place. It took a couple of minutes, but eventually, it was Barbara who noticed that Louis was walking alone and slowed her step (forcing Niall to do the same because of their intertwined hands) and immediately started talking to him.

"I like your shirt," she said with a smile.

It was a simple black shirt, but Louis appreciated the compliment nonetheless. "Have you two been together long?" He asked, eyeing Barbara and Niall's intertwined hands.

"Eight months next week," Niall said with a proud grin, evidently happy with his relationship. "You dating anyone?"

Louis shook his and had the desire to scoff. He'd never dated anyone, had never kissed anyone and had never gone on a date. He'd fancied a couple of people over the years, but those were small, insignificant crushes that had—obviously —never lead to anything.

"What..." he went to ask about Harry and Luke but hesitated. When he saw the awaiting looks on the couple's faces, he knew he didn't exactly have much to lose, so he went to ask anyway. "What about Harry and Luke? Are they, like, together?"

"Not sure, actually," Barbara said, a small line appearing between her brows. "They used to date, but they broke up a couple of times until they made it a permanent break-up."

Niall nodded in confirmation. "Honestly, we've all stopped keeping track of them. Pretty sure they're shagging again, but who knows at this point."

"Nobody likes on-off-again relationships," Barbara said, giving Louis a meaningful look. Then she smiled again. "Why? Are you interested in one of them?"

Louis quickly shook his head—as if. "No, no, definitely not," he said and believed it too. "No way."

"'S'alright if you do," Niall said with narrowed eyes, and immediately, Louis realised he had just gotten across as a homophobe.

"No, I mean, I know," Louis said, stumbling over his words to get them out as fast as possible. "I just—I like everyone—I mean, I don't care for genders. I'm not a homophobe, I swear."

He closed his eyes, completely humiliated by his own behaviour. Niall only chuckled. "It's cool, mate. Never thought you were."

Barbara reached over and squeezed Louis' forearm with a reassuring smile. "Relax, Louis. No reason to be so uptight, yeah?"

She was right. There was absolutely no reason for him to be uptight.

Relax, Tomlinson.


	5. five.

 

𝕗𝕚𝕧𝕖

 

"So, be completely honest with me here," Harry said as he walked Louis home that same afternoon. "Did you have fun?"

They had got food in a small, slightly shady pub, a fifteen-minute walk from Louis' house. He was a bit nervous about accidentally crossing paths with his dad, but never uttered his worries out loud, afraid that he might come over as a wimp, as opposed to his very non-wimpy friends. Well, 'friends'. Acquaintances, probably.

Louis hadn't talked very much, content with just listening to the others and giving input every once in a while to not come over as a complete mute. There were moments when he had felt like a proper stranger when they would laugh about an inside joke or a memory that he wasn't in on. Thankfully, they seemed to be aware of this and always moved on quickly—sometimes, they even explained it to Louis, who felt like he had belonged more that entire day than he had in all his life.

When it came to actually eating anything, Louis had held back, being that it had always taken a while before he was confident enough to eat in front of people. Eating in the cafeteria was something he still wasn't exactly comfortable with, and he always did so with a strong sense of self-consciousness. The only thing he had ordered was tea and toast with jam (Barbara had ordered the exact same, either because she actually watched what she ate or because she noticed Louis holding back).

The park had been their next destination where they had stayed until it was around the time that school was out and Louis ought it best to go home as to not raise any suspicion with his parents. Harry had offered to walk him home, and when Louis had told him no, had still followed. Hence they were walking together to Louis' house.

And all in all, Louis had fun, so he nodded in response to Harry's question.

Harry grinned, evidently glad about the fact that Louis had enjoyed himself. "That's good," he said. "I could tell you wanted to disappear sometimes, though. Like when you went to use the loo?"

Halfway through breakfast, Louis had announced he needed to go to the bathroom, which had been a complete lie. The amount of socialising had just got a bit too much, so he had hung out in a stall for about ten minutes, taking a quick breather before returning to the crowded table, only to be met with enthusiastic 'Louis!'s and a 'Listen to this, yeah,' from Liam.

And of course, Harry just had to go and notice.

Louis bit his lip and pretended not to see Harry's eyes flickering to his mouth. "Just needed a moment to myself," he said, looking out in front of him when Harry's gaze became too intense.

"Don't sweat it," Harry reassured him with a small smile. "You needed a breather, I get it."

Did he, though? Did someone as extroverted and outgoing as Harry understand something as 'too much socialising'? Harry had been talking to everyone all the time, telling jokes and constantly having everyone in a fit of laughter. He was charming and sociable and likeable, and Louis had been sat beside him, shy and timid and probably a lot less likeable.

However, by not talking a lot, he did get to look around. And he had seen how Luke often put a hand on Harry's knee, and how Harry had sometimes put his hand on top for a quick second. Subsequently, Louis had been wondering about Harry's relationship status (and sexuality) throughout the whole day.

"I have a question," he carefully said, his eyes landing on Harry who nodded as if to say, 'go ahead'. "Are you dating that guy, Luke?"

Harry shrugged a little, the question clearly not too appreciated. "We used to date. It's over, though. Has been for a while."

"And you're still friends? Even though he's your ex?"

"Yes," Harry said, quirking an eyebrow as if he was trying to tell Louis to drop the subject already. It was a sore spot for him, then. "We were friends long before we started dating. We have history, you can't just erase that stuff."

Louis nodded, trying to see it from Harry's point of view, although failing to. He could never see himself hang around an ex unless he still had feelings for them. Then again, what did he know about romance? As someone who had never even kissed anyone before, what experience did he have about love to share with Harry?

"I have another question," Louis said, and Harry nodded again, although a bit slower this time. "Are you gay?"

Harry laughed and shook his head, which was a bit insulting to Louis, who thought it to be a perfectly normal question for their current conversation. "No, no," Harry said, which Louis was secretly a bit relieved about, because if Harry had said yes, that meant that he was seriously stringing along some girls at school. "I'm bi, though. You?"

Louis shrugged, silently relieved that Harry wasn't some sort straight guy pretending to be gay or a gay guy pretending to like girls. "Don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know what my sexuality is."

"No, I—" Harry chuckled a bit at Louis' oblivious reply, "—I meant, like, what do you mean by 'you don't know'? You haven't figured it out yet, or?"

"Oh," Louis replied dumbly, his cheeks heating up at his own embarrassment. "It's... I don't really care for genders when it comes to dating people, you know? It's like, uh, hearts not parts, I guess?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully, which made Louis a bit happy; it showed that Harry was genuinely listening and trying to understand what Louis was saying, instead of just blindly agreeing with everything and pretending to understand. "So, like, pansexual?"

"If that's what you want to call it," Louis said. "I don't need to label myself, but if it makes it easier for you then go ahead, yeah."

"Oh, I think I get it. You don't care what people think your sexuality is, as long as you understand it you're fine with everything?" Harry asked, and Louis felt genuinely happy that he understood, and nodded with a bright smile. "That's cool, Louis, honest."

Cool. It was a word Louis would've never considered on himself. That didn't make the compliment unwelcome, however.

When they got to Louis' house, Louis remembered the last time Harry had been there. He had climbed through the window, claiming he had seen Louis through it from the street down below. To be fair, it wasn't a lie: Louis was able to imagine himself sitting at his desk, which was even a tiny bit visible.

"What are you looking at?" Harry asked, watching Louis with a slightly amused expression.

"Trying to determine whether you were lying about being able to see me through the window," Louis said, sparing Harry a small grin.

Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest, his face contorting into a joking grin. "And? Did I lie?"

Before Louis could reply, the front door suddenly opened and Louis' father appeared behind it. "Louis!" He called out, causing Louis to pale and turn to Harry with wide eyes. "Who is that?"

With pleading eyes, Louis begged Harry not to tell the truth. Harry seemed to pick up on it and gave Louis' father a polite smile. "Just asking your son for the way to the shops, sir," he said, his smile turning tight-lipped when Louis' father scowled at him.

"Come inside, Louis, now," he said, averting his gaze to Louis, who wanted to sink through the pavement in humiliation. He glanced at Harry, mouthing a small 'sorry' to which the latter replied with a reassuring smile.

Louis approached the front door and kept his head down, refusing eye-contact with his dad, who turned to him as soon as he closed the front door. "Who was that?" He asked, repeating the same question.

"Just someone," Louis said, keeping his gaze trained on a scratch on the wall that he could've sworn wasn't there before. "He asked for the way."

"Don't talk to people who look like that, Louis," his father sneered, peeking through the narrow window in the door. "One moment they're asking the way, the next they have a knife to your throat demanding money."

Louis wanted to laugh. It was funny, how easily people could create a judgement without even knowing someone.

"Did you hear me?"

He nodded. Suddenly, his dad smacked his upper arm. It wasn't hard or painful at all, but it was surprising because his dad had never touched him like that before. A correctional slap that didn't even hurt.

"Answer me when I talk to you," his father said, so Louis looked up.

"Yes," he mumbled. "I heard you."

His father made a condescending sound, almost like a disapproving hum. "Stay away from people like that, Louis."

And without another word, he disappeared into the living room, leaving a speechless Louis behind.

What did he know? He was never around. He could piss off. Louis was going to hang out with Harry and his friends all the time now, just to spite his dad. Maybe the people he hung out with today were a little rough around the edges, yeah, but they weren't bad people. Despite having never met him before, they still made sure to include Louis in their conversations and that he felt welcome. Throughout the day, Louis had felt like he belonged, more than he had in his entire life.

Who was his father to decide that just because someone looked a certain way, they were immediately dismissible or bad to be around?

Just as Louis slinked off to his room, his phone buzzed twice in quick succession. After closing the door to his bedroom, he checked the device and found he had received two texts from Harry.

 _**please tell me your dad** _  
**didnt kill u**  
**was actually starting to**  
**take a liking to you**

With a small smile, Louis sat down on his desk chair. See? Harry wasn't a bad person. He actually checked up on Louis. Even added a small joke.

**Still alive**

And, of course, Harry called him as soon as Louis replied. Louis purposely waited a few seconds before picking up and put the phone to his ear with a smile. "Hi."

" _Hi_ ," Harry replied, a grin evident in his voice. " _What happened with your dad?_ "

Louis shrugged, before remembering that it was a phone call and that Harry couldn't see him. "He was just rude. And judgemental."

He didn't want to mention the slap. It probably was a one time type of thing, and if he were to tell Harry it would most likely ignite far more concern than it deserved.

" _You sound pissed off_."

"He doesn't have the right," Louis said, his eyes falling on a picture with his parents on his wall, taken three years ago when they were on holiday in the Languedoc in France. When they were still okay. "He's the one who jumped into bed with some fucking whore, breaking mum's heart as a result, and then goes to tell me how to live my life? No thanks."

There's a small silence on the other side. " _I've never heard you angry before_ ," Harry then said, careful with his words.

"I don't really allow my bad emotions to come out," Louis mumbled, not quite understanding why he was being so honest with Harry. Maybe it was because it was over the phone, and he didn't have to personally witness the effects of his words on Harry.

" _Does anyone?_ " Harry asked, to which Louis didn't respond. He wasn't quite sure what answer Harry was looking for, what answer was fitted, and what answer he wanted to give. There was another silence. " _Do you hate him?_ "

Louis hesitated with replying. He wasn't really sure anymore and reached out to put a finger over his father's face on the picture. "I don't know," he eventually said, deciding that the picture looked better without his dad. "I think part of me does."

" _But there's that other part that keeps telling you that he's still your dad?_ " Harry asked, and Louis nodded. He once again remembered he needed to answer verbally, but Harry seemed to know that he had nodded because he continued talking. " _It's not a bad thing, you know. You can love someone and still be angry at them_.”

Louis bit his lip, a little surprised by Harry's understanding nature. "You're good at that," he whispered, his eyes falling on an unfinished drawing in his opened notebook.

" _At what?_ "

"Making people feel better."

" _...Do you feel better?_ "

And when Louis answered a small, "Yes," he knew it was the truth that Harry, somehow, always managed to pry out of him.

" _Good. You deserve to feel good_ ," Harry said, which was an oddly intimate thing to say. Still, it didn't make Louis uncomfortable. If anything, it was oddly appreciated.

"Thank you.”

" _Of course_."

Louis made a small, contradicting sound as if he was saying 'no'. "Not just... not just for that."

" _You mean for today?_ " Harry asked, and Louis nodded. Once again, Harry seemed to know that he had nodded. " _I know. Just trying to help you out a bit_."

And there was a strong desire in Louis that wanted to ask; why? Why was he so set on helping Louis? The latter just hoped that it wasn't because of pity, as that was the last thing Louis needed.

"Harry?" Louis said, waiting for Harry to hum in reply before continuing. "I had fun today. I know I suck at talking, so it probably didn't seem like that, but I did. Your friends are nice."

" _They're your friends too_ ," Harry said, which had Louis smiling as he started twirling his pen between his fingers.

"Are we friends?" He asked, and browsed through his notebook until he reached the drawing he made of Harry, during the first—and only—time he had been in Louis' room.

" _Yeah_ ," Harry said. " _Do you not want us to be?_ "

"I do," Louis reassured, mindlessly running his fingers over the drawn curls in his notebook, the corners of the page curled up from the natural oils in his hands. "I just have no clue how it works."

" _That's fine. I have no clue either_ ," Harry said, and Louis chuckled. There was some shuffling on Harry's side. " _Oh, shit. I have to go. We'll talk at school tomorrow, yeah?_ "

"Sure. Unless you're going to skip again," Louis attempted to joke. It seemed to work, as he heard Harry chuckle.

" _No, can't do it twice in a row_ ," he said. " _Okay, I have—yeah. See you tomorrow_."

"Yeah," Louis whispered, his fingers trailing over the lips in the drawing; the same lips that had been talking to him for the last fifteen minutes. "Bye, Harry."

" _Bye, Lou_."

And Louis smiled, even though the dial tone already beeped three times. When he put his phone down on his desk he stared at the drawing for a bit more, trailing his fingers over the lines. By the time he closed his notebook his fingers had a light grey tint on them from the pencil.

He wondered what the people he had hung out with thought of him. Barbara seemed to have taken a liking to him, but then again, who was to say that she wasn't like that with everyone? It was up for speculation, really, what everyone had thought of him. Probably that he was too shy, that was something he was very much used to hearing.

Teachers, classmates, his own parents, neighbours... the list went on and on. Everyone had something to say about Louis' social skills, but it had never once been positive. He was too shy, he didn't participate enough in class, he was being rude, he was closed off...

And yet, when he spoke to Harry, he never wanted to stop talking. With Harry, he talked; not an excessive amount, but a ton more than he did with anyone else. 

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

As Harry had said, the very next day, he approached Louis during lunch, who was sat outside at one of the tables, even though it was October and so, quite cold. He was wearing a jacket anyway, and he could eat without feeling uncomfortable either, as nobody in their right mind would sit outside in the low temperature it was now. It also gave him the peace of mind he needed sometimes and gave him the opportunity to draw in his notebook.

"Hey," Harry said as he sat down across from Louis, unceremoniously dumping his backpack atop the table. He glanced at Louis' opened notebook, his brows furrowing together. "I thought you didn't want people to see it?"

Louis made a show out of looking around the empty courtyard as he swallowed a bite from his cereal bar. "You're right. The number of people that are here is so overwhelming, I mean, they could just look over and see me and all my dark secrets."

"Ha-ha," Harry deadpanned, although amusement flickered in his eyes. "So, listen, do you remember when I asked you to tutor me in French?"

"And you left me waiting at the library for forty-five minutes?" Louis said, cocking a sarcastic and challenging eyebrow.

"No, no, don't remember that part," Harry joked, and a grin flashed over Louis' face. "I just—I tanked my last test and—"

"Didn't you tank the History test as well?" Louis asked. Harry nodded, which was remarkable, really, how he had pretty much copied the entire test off Louis and still managed to fail. "How many subjects are you failing?"

"A lot."

Louis frowned and closed his notebook so that he could keep his attention on Harry, and not accidentally distract himself. He didn't want to come over as rude now that they were making progress. "If you plan on failing everything, why bother taking your A-levels?"

"I'm not planning on failing," Harry defended, crossing his arms on the table but reaching one over it to fidget with the corner of Louis' notebook. For some reason, Louis allowed him to; had it been anyone else, he would've probably snatched the book away already. "I just suck at everything that has to do with school. Except for PE, though."

Yeah, Louis knew that. They had PE together, and not a single lesson had gone by without Louis envying Harry's athletic abilities. He was good at everything in PE, quite literally everything, which was frustrating if you were as lanky and athletically inept as Louis.

"Anyway, I was just wondering if maybe, maybe you could reconsider tutoring me?" Harry asked, his words careful and his cheeks turning a light pink. He seemed to be embarrassed about needing tutoring. There was nothing wrong with it, obviously, but Harry seemed to be uncomfortable about the idea of needing help with something. "Only for French. Unless you want to help with the other subjects, 'cause that would actually be great."

Louis bit his lip and stared at Harry's fingers playing with the corner of his notebook. The tattoos there were a bit faded, mostly consisting out of lines circling around his fingers like permanent rings. "On one condition," he then said, meeting Harry's eyes again. "If you're late—even for a single second—I'll never talk to you again."

"No, keep it fair," Harry said with a satisfied smile. Louis noticed a dimple on his left cheek. "You'll keep talking to me, you just won't tutor me anymore."

Louis bit the inside of his cheek to prevent a smile from spreading over his face. "Fine."

Harry grinned in victory. "Yes. Thank you, Louis," he said, his eyes flickering to Louis' sweater. He leaned over the table and pointed at it with a frown. "You've got a little something..." he mumbled.

When Louis looked down to see whatever Harry was seeing, Harry snapped his hand up and flicked Louis' nose with his forefinger. Louis closed his eyes as a smile spread over his face, Harry cackling at his expression and the fact that his trick had worked. "I can't believe you fell for that!"

Louis opened his eyes again and shook his head. "Whatever," he mumbled, a little embarrassed but mostly amused. "What are we in, year seven?"

Harry bit his lip as he leaned forward on his forearms, clearly enjoying the situation all too much. "I don't know, with your height we could be."

Louis pulled an outraged expression that had Harry in a fit of laughter again. "Piss off, I'm big."

"Big-headed, yeah," Harry said through his laughter.

With a playful huff, Louis grabbed his notebook and the remainder of his cereal bar. "And I'm done talking to you," he said, getting up from his seat.

Before he could leave, Harry quickly grabbed his sleeve with a childish pout. "Come on, lunch isn't over yet," he said. "I like talking to you."

"What about your girlfriend? Won't she miss you?" Louis said, neither of them missing the bitter undertone. Despite it, he still sat down again, putting his belongings back on the table.

"I don't have one," Harry said, trying to figure out Louis' expression, but Louis just kept staring at the table and wondered why he hated the idea of Harry being in a relationship with someone so much. "Thought you knew that."

He started picking on a sticker stuck on the side of the table, giving the activity far more attention than it actually needed. "Difficult to know. I see you flirting with so many people."

There was a short silence.

Harry suddenly reached over the table and nudged Louis' head up by putting a finger under his chin, which he then quickly retreated again once Louis looked up. "Hey. I don't have a girlfriend or a boyfriend, and I'm not going to be late for our tutoring sessions, and I don't think you're big-headed."

The last part made Louis smile, which he attempted to hide by leaning his chin in the palm of his hand and keeping his fingers in front of his mouth. Harry seemed to notice what he was trying to do and reached over again. "See? You're totally smiling," he said, trying to pry Louis' fingers away and making Louis laugh, still attempting to hide his mouth. "No, come on, don't hide it, I like your smile."

For some reason, that made Louis' heartbeat speed up, and he allowed Harry to pull his hand away. Harry held his hand for much longer than necessary, yet Louis found himself wanting to hold Harry's hand once he let go.

Why was everything suddenly so confusing?

"You like my smile?" Louis asked softly, afraid he might scare Harry away with the question.

Harry's cheeks tinted a light pink, and it took a lot for Louis to blame it on the cold weather. "Your real one, yeah," he said. "You've got one that you give everyone, which looks kind of forced, but you also have that one. That one is real when your eyes crinkle and stuff."

And stuff. What did that even mean?

"The one I give everyone is creepy," Louis said. "I wear it in pictures. It always looks so fake and irritated."

Harry stared at him for a few seconds. "Try enjoying yourself more often, then," he said. "Don't fake it."

"Easy for you to say, you probably have fun every single day. I go home and sit in my room till I have to leave for school the next morning."

Harry suddenly smiled to himself, looking away and then back at Louis as if he figured something out about him.

"What?" Louis asked, his curiosity itching.

"You're talking," Harry said. "You only talk that much when you're around me. Don't try to deny it, either."

A blush crept up on Louis' face. Why did Harry always have to be so observant? And since when did Louis start calling him observant instead of oblivious?

"Guess that makes you special," he mumbled, training his eyes on the sticker again. "I don't know. Maybe you're the only person I feel comfortable enough to talk to."

The bell suddenly rang, interrupting a rather meaningful conversation, and Louis sighed in disappointment. Harry put his hand on top of his, which was an unnecessary move but oh-so-welcome on Louis' part.

"Can I call you tonight?" Harry asked, a hopeful glimmer in his eyes.

"If I said no, would you still call?"

"Yes.”

Louis smiled and stood up, his hand slipping out from under Harry's, but he quickly put the tips of his fingers on top of Harry's hand to maintain the physical contact. "Call me, then."

And only after Harry grinned did Louis gather his belongings and go back inside to find his next lesson, willing his pounding heart to calm down and not understanding why it was so insistent on telling Louis to go back to Harry and just skip the rest of the day.

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

When Louis got home, his parents were still at work. Not that that was unusual; his mother would usually get home around six and get started on dinner, and his father would pop in somewhere around seven, sometimes eight. Louis often suspected that he had been with another woman, but he had never smelled a different type of perfume or noticed any remnants of lipstick, so it was probably just the paranoia that had set in after that happened.

There were a couple of letters on the table when he got home, left in a haste that morning by his father who had been late to work. Louis tried to ignore them, but eventually, curiosity got the best of him. Most of the letters were bills of some kind, but there was one that got his heart to skip a beat.

Child Maintenance Service. Addressed to his father. A reminder to pay before the end of the month. What the fuck?

Did—what—how? Did his father have a kid beside Louis? When? From the woman he was unfaithful with? From a previous relationship? Did Louis' mother know?

In the middle of a whirlwind of questions, his phone started ringing. It was, of course, Harry, but Louis didn't pick up. He just couldn't talk to him right now, not after finding out about this. Louis knew his father was a prick, but this far surpassed being a prick. God, what was Louis supposed to do now? Pretend he never saw the letter or confront his dad? And if he were to confront him, when would be the right time? How do you even confront someone with this?

And what about Louis' mum? She deserved to know if she didn't already. It wouldn't be surprising if she was unaware of it, as Louis' father was good at keeping things from them—he managed to hide an affair for five months straight, the arsehole was experienced.

There was an internal debate going on inside Louis' head about whether he should steal the letter and let his dad figure out that Louis stole it, or that he should just leave it on the table. Leaving it would give him a lot more extra time to think and figure things out. Stealing it would probably mean immediate confrontation.

So Louis eventually decided to leave the letter and stumbled upstairs, collapsing on top of his bed and staring up at the ceiling. There was suddenly a strong urge to scream, to let all his frustration and confusion out, so he grabbed his pillow, put it over his face and screamed. It didn't do too much to muffle it, and Louis was pretty sure that if someone had been home they would've heard him.

His phone started ringing again.

Louis let it ring, still not wanting to pick up. What was he supposed to say? Sorry, can't talk, I just found out my dad had a kid with another woman, see you at school?

It seemed that that was the exact thing he had to do when his phone rang again right after stopping. With a sigh, he fished it out of his pocket and picked up.

"Hi—"

"Jesus fucking hell," Harry immediately said, not allowing Louis to properly speak. "I thought something had happened to you, fuck. Wait—did something happen?"

Louis bit his lip as he stared up at the ceiling, his mind obviously going back to the stupid letter. At least Harry cared enough to be concerned. That seemed to be a small positive in the negative. "Nothing physical," he eventually settled on saying.

There was a small silence. "Did you get in a fight with your parents?" Harry tentatively asked, and Louis somehow smiled a tiny smile at the caring tone.

"No. There's—something happened, though. Nothing nice."

"Do you want me to come over?" Harry offered, instead of inquiring about what exactly had happened. It relieved Louis a bit, as he really didn't want to talk to Harry about it. "You can help me with my French homework and we'll take your mind off it."

And Louis found himself realising that he actually really wanted Harry here, a completely opposing feeling that he had before he had picked up the phone. "Please."

There's a soft chuckle on the other line. "I'll be there in a couple minutes, yeah?"

"Okay."

"Okay. See you in a bit, Lou."

"Bye."

Louis didn't bother hanging up and dropped his phone on his chest. He wasn't really sure what he wanted anymore. He wanted his dad gone and out of his life, yet he was terrified about the thought of no longer having him around. Talking to Harry was the last thing he thought he wanted right now, yet the latter was going to be here in a couple of minutes. It was like his brain was contradicting itself.

How the hell was he supposed to teach someone French—a someone that was Harry as well—when he couldn't even make sense of his own problems?

Twenty minutes later, which was more than just a 'couple minutes' in Louis' book, there was a knock on his window. And when Louis sat up, he found a grinning Harry behind it.

"You're aware I have a front door?" Louis said as he slid his window open, allowing Harry to climb inside.

"I know, but this is more Romeo and Juliet, innit?" Harry said, clearly intended as a joke, but Louis couldn't get himself to laugh at it. He couldn't even get himself to smile. Harry, being Harry, picked up on it. He put his finger under Louis' chin, lifting his head. "You okay?"

Louis shrugged, trying to act noncommittal and also trying not to be intimidated by the eye-contact. He still sucked at eye-contact. "Sort of."

"Good thing I'm a great distraction, then, right?" Harry said with a grin, letting go of Louis' chin and holding up his backpack. He took out the required books and tossed them on Louis' bed, putting his bag down by the window and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Louis sat down next to him after a couple of moments, pulling up his legs and crossing them, putting his hands in his lap. "What did you need help with, exactly?" He asked, pushing all of his thoughts aside and choosing to focus all of his attention on Harry, to at least try and be of some help.

"Everything," Harry said, crinkling his nose in disgust as he leafed through the book. "Grammar, mostly."

"It is difficult."

"Tell me about it."


	6. six.

 

𝕤𝕚𝕩

 

During dinner that night, Louis couldn't stop himself from glaring at his dad the whole time. The latter is oblivious to it, too focused on his dinner and his iPad, reading through his emails while Louis' mother was lost in thought about something. They hadn't said a single word yet throughout the entire dinner. This was, of course, not an abnormal occurrence for the Tomlinson household.

Yet, Louis found himself feeling deeply angry at the silence for once, because there was now something that  _needed_  to be said. Right, dad? Don't you have something to share? Maybe an estranged half-sibling you've been hiding from me? Hiding from mum?

As if that was going to happen.

The teenager inside Louis wanted a fight. He wanted to yell at his dad. He wanted to verbally ruin him. He wanted to be the one to yell for once, something he ought he deserved after having to listen to his parents go at it almost every single night.

"Hey, dad?" He said, and his father hummed in disinterest. Louis noticed his mother perking up in surprise, as he hadn't actually directly addressed his father in a very long time. "What's going to happen once I leave for college?"

"What do you mean?" His dad asked, still keeping his eyes on his iPad and furrowing his brows as he read something.

"Are you going back to that bitch you cheated with?" Louis asked, and saw his parents freeze in shock, something he was secretly very glad about. At least he finally had their attention. "Or are you going to stick around and actually try to fix things?"

"Louis!" His mother scolded, giving him a warning look that was both meant as a scold and a plea for him not to start a fight. Like he was going to listen to that; it was his turn tonight. "Don't say that!"

"Why?" Louis asked, pretending to be innocently oblivious. "Is it too confrontational?"

"Watch your mouth, boy," his father said, putting his device down and turning to Louis with angry eyes. "Remember who you're talking to."

It nearly made Louis laugh. He knew who he was talking to: a liar and a cheater, and a woman who needed a wake-up call. "Am I the only one who's actually willing to talk about this?" He said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "You two just ignore what happened and then pretend like I can't hear you fighting every night."

His mother put a hand on his arm. "Let's not talk about this right now, Louis," she said with a small, pleading smile, but for once, it didn't have an effect on Louis, who was now gradually getting angrier and found it more and more difficult to contain it

"Then when?!" He exclaimed, pointing to his dad. "You keep him around as if he's actually going to change, you neglect my feelings about all of this and you—" he turned to his dad— "you're a fucking liar! You pretend like you're the saint when you do nothing but lie!"

And then, his father did it again. Hit him. Right on the back of the head, which made Louis' mum jump up with a gasp. Louis grabbed the back of his head in reflex, his eyes widening at the slap. It didn't hurt, but it was, once again, the action that made the impact.

"Don't you touch him!" His mother shouted, and his dad jumped up as well, trying to make himself look more intimidating—something Louis was pretty sure you should never want to be in front of the people you loved.

"He was being disrespectful!" His father yelled in response. "I will not allow disrespect from some petty teen like him!"

"You don't hurt my son, you hear me?!"

"He's my son, too! Or are you saying he's got a different father? It wouldn't surprise me!"

"How dare you! You..."

Louis blocked out the rest, trying to focus on everything but the fight  _he_  had started. Maybe his parents were right, maybe he really was only capable of ruining things. It seemed like that was the case if recent events were anything to go by.

He desperately racked his brain to find something to block out the screaming adults in front of him, willing himself not to cry in front of them. Somehow, his mind went to Harry. And then to Harry's eyes.

So he focused on that, and tried to imagine them in as much detail as he could; the lashes, the different shades of green, the small lines in the outer corners... as much as he could. It worked for a little bit, but just wasn't enough, not when his parents were right in front of him, so he abruptly got up and left the room, the voices following him into the hall.

"Look! Going upstairs again!" His father said, making Louis pause in his step. "What a surprise! Maybe one day he'll bring someone with him so that he can see how antisocial he actually is!"

Louis abruptly turned around, tears pricking in his eyes from both anger and hurt; there was only so much ridicule he could emotionally take. "I had a friend over today," he said, his voice trembling and making him feel weak, the last feeling he wanted to have in front of his parents. "His name's Harry. And he's been there for me more these past two days than you guys have in the last two years."

Cowardice took over and made it impossible for Louis to stay and watch the consequences of his words, so he abruptly left the room and ran up the stairs. When he got to his bedroom he slammed the door shut, leaning his forehead against it and willing his breathing to calm down and the tears to disappear.

"Don't cry," he whispered to himself. "Don't cry. Not for them. They're not worth it."

It took him a couple of minutes, but he managed to keep the tears in despite the yelling that he could still hear. He slid down on the floor, leaning his back against the door. He didn't know why, but for some reason, he found himself texting Harry as if it could provide him with some sort of solace.

 **Is there a manual for**  
**uninstalling your parents?**

There was no surprise at the fact that he didn't get an immediate reply, as it was a bit of an odd message to send to someone. Louis dropped his phone in his lap and leaned his head against the door, shutting his eyes and trying to focus on anything that could take his mind off the fight downstairs.

Usually, he was great at it, blocking out the yells from downstairs, but tonight he deemed it impossible. Maybe because so much was happening all at once, especially the hidden sibling thing. Well, half-sibling: it's not exactly something to go about ignoring either, it's a nasty revelation that needed an explanation. How was Louis going to get one, though? It wasn't an easy thing to confront someone with ("So, dad, have you perhaps been hiding a half-sibling from me? Will they celebrate Christmas with us?").

Suddenly, Louis' phone buzzed again. It seemed that Harry had replied after all, despite that it had already been ten minutes since Louis texted him. There was a link to Spotify, and attached to it was a short message.

 **_this maybe doesn't uninstall_ **  
**_them, but it does block the_ **  
**_pop-ups for a bit_ **

When Louis tapped the link it took him to a playlist named 'Parents Suck Anyway', making him smile, and he got up to look for his headphones. Despite not having used them in literal months, he knew exactly where to find them.

The first song that started playing was Basket Case by Green Day, which had Louis grinning. He spent the first verse getting used to listening to music again, but by the time the second verse started and a heavier set of drums and guitars set in, he found himself jumping around and headbanging as crazily as he could, dancing out all the frustration.

Something inside of him told him that this had exactly been Harry's intention, for him to be able to rock out for a bit and just block everything from his mind. The rest of the songs were in similar fashion, ranging from Green Day to Simple Plan to Wheatus. They were clearly meant to rock out to, and it was probably for that reason that Louis found it difficult not to dance to the music, headbanging during the choruses and dramatically jumping around.

When Louis finally collapsed on his bed from exhaustion, he was unable to wipe the grin off his face. Harry managed to make him feel better without even having to be here.

 _You deserve to feel good_.

Maybe Louis did deserve to feel good. He might have started that particular fight tonight, but didn't he have the right to that? Never, not even once, had his parents asked how he felt about the situation, how he was dealing with it. They had never offered some sort of support, even though Louis had done nothing but provide support for them, letting his mother cry on his shoulder during late evenings and allowing his father to complain about how he had 'messed up' and 'promised to make it better' and that he 'wished he could take it all back'.

It would've been nice if either had returned the favour.

 **Thank you for helping**  
**block the pop-ups**

**_anytime x_ **

That the 'x' made Louis a bit giddier than usual, was nobody's business but his own.

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

Louis didn't get the chance to talk to Harry until after school when the latter was waiting by Louis' locker.

The entire day had been a bit of a daze for Louis, who had spent the entirety of it thinking about yesterday's shocking revelation. It wasn't exactly nice to find out you had a half-sibling somewhere out in the world, especially if it happened by finding an envelope from Child Maintenance Service. It was just so difficult to wrap his head around the fact that he had a half-sibling somewhere, and that his father had hidden it from him.

You shouldn't hide something like that: it wasn't a secret you whisper in the dark during a sleepover, it was forced family estrangement. And frankly, unacceptable.

"Hey, Louis."

Louis sent Harry a quick smile as he opened his locker and grabbed his jacket, putting a couple of books that he didn't need to take home in his locker. Just because he'd been having a terrible day, didn't mean that his teachers forgot to assign homework.

"Long day?" Harry asked, to which Louis nodded. "Know how you feel. Just kept dragging on and on."

Louis shrugged on his jacket and closed his locker. "Yeah," he said, his brain scolding him for being so unconversational. He knew that he was usually like this when he was with others, but with Harry, he was at least able to actually talk. Today just made it impossible to properly converse.

"What are you doing right now? Going home?" Harry asked, to which Louis nodded  _again_  as they started walking out of the school. "Can I interest you in getting something to eat?"

"Hang out?" Louis inquired, a bit flattered that he was being asked to hang out after school. It had never happened before. It was also a good distraction from... well, everything, really.

"Yeah," Harry said, the smile tugging on his lips revealing that he knew exactly what Louis was feeling right now. "Been craving Nandos all day."

And even though Louis still didn't like eating in public, he smiled and said, "Yeah, why not?"

The walk to Nandos wasn't very long and mostly spent in silence, something that, despite Louis' timid and introverted behaviour, was rare for the two for the two of them.

"What do you want ?" Harry asked once they walked inside, already looking at the menu above the tills, but Louis slowly shook his head.

"I don't want anything," he said, giving Harry an awkward smile.

"Come on, it's my treat, yeah?" Harry said, nudging Louis' arm with a grin and not picking up on what Louis was not too keen on admitting out loud. "Don't be shy."

Louis scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly looking up at Harry. "I, uh," he mumbled, lowering his voice. "I'm not exactly comfortable with eating in public."

Harry's face immediately fell, regret filling his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me before?" He asked, looking genuinely bothered by the idea of making Louis uncomfortable. "We could've gone someplace else."

"No, it's fine, honestly," Louis reassured him with a small smile. "You said you'd been craving it all day."

"Just because I have a craving doesn't mean you have to suffer," Harry said, but the grin he was previously wearing had already returned on his face. "Go claim us a seat, I'll be with you in a sec, yeah?"

"Yeah, sure," Louis said, turning around to find a place to sit. He eventually settled on a booth, only realising it was a bit of a romantic choice for a meal between two people once he sat down.

Wait, what was he on about? He wasn't into Harry like that, neither was Harry into him. There was no reason for him to complicate things by deeming them 'too romantic'.

Yet, when Harry sat down in the booth a couple of minutes later, he gave Louis a playful smirk and said: "Romantic choice, Tomlinson."

Louis' cheeks tinted a light pink and he shook his head, looking away from Harry. "Funny."

"Aren't I?" Harry said with a satisfied expression. There were a couple of minutes of silence, although they weren't uncomfortable in any sort of way. Eventually, Harry was the one to break the silence. "So, you're going to tell me why you've been so quiet?"

"I'm always quiet," Louis responded, returning his gaze to Harry and leaning back in his seat.

"Not to me," Harry said.

Thankfully, Louis didn't have to reply when Harry's food arrived. "I'll get you cutlery," he said, getting up before Harry could stop him.

Maybe it was a bit childish, but Louis took his time on grabbing the cutlery and picking sauces, even though Harry hadn't said he wanted any. From the way Harry was eyeing him when he got back, it was obvious that he knew exactly what Louis had been doing.

The food Harry had ordered was a chicken BLT, a side of chips that he not-so-discreetly slid to the middle of the table (in case Louis would suddenly decide to eat), and, surprisingly enough, two cokes. He handed one to Louis, who took it, albeit begrudgingly.

"I told you I didn't want anything."

"It's a drink, love, not food," Harry pointed out with a raised brow, and why exactly did Louis' heart speed up a little at 'love'?

Louis took a sip with a small frown. "Whatever," he muttered, not appreciating the fact that Harry had come up with a good reply.

Of course, Harry noticed and grinned humorously. The grin disappeared pretty quickly and was replaced by a more serious expression. "So, my question?" He asked. "I get it if you don't want to talk about it, but I can tell that whatever it is, it's bothering you."

Was it wrong that Louis thought it was sweet? It was just meant to show that Harry cared, nothing sweet about it, right?

"Just, read some stuff that I wasn't supposed to read," Louis cryptically said, cringing at his mysterious words. "Sorry, this isn't helping either of us."

"No, 's'fine, at least you're talking to me again," Harry said with a smile, and yeah, he was right. Louis was talking again.

Look at the effect Harry had on him. Louis cleared his throat and then sighed. "You know how I said my dad cheated on my mum?" He asked, waiting for Harry to nod. "It went on for a couple of months before we found out. For about five, I think."

"Long time," Harry said, and Louis nodded. "What an arsehole."

"Right?" Louis said, relieved to have finally found someone who agreed with him. "Anyway, yesterday I found this letter."

"From the woman he shagged?" Harry asked, taking a sip from his glass. Louis shook his head, eyeing Harry carefully.

"Child Maintenance Service."

Harry's mouth dropped open, his face filling with disbelief. Had it not been for the topic, Louis would've laughed at the rather comical sight. "Fuck off, he had another kid?"

"Yeah," Louis sighed. "And I had no clue."

"What a dick," Harry said, chewing on a chip with open mouth, something that Louis would've usually found annoying, but now just didn't have the energy to comment on. If anything, it was a bit endearing. "Does your mum know?"

Louis shrugged, taking a sip from his drink. "Don't know. I've obviously never heard them discuss it, so," he said, sighing and shaking his head. "Jesus, I have a half-sibling and my dad didn't even have the guts to mention it."

Harry didn't respond and allowed Louis to rant about his parents, a rant that went on for a few continuous minutes, Louis' voice sometimes rising when he let it get to him a bit too much. It felt good to let all the frustration out, to be able to talk to somebody about what had been bothering to him for the last two years. It was like a weight was slowly being lifted off his shoulders, like he could share a burden with Harry instead of having to carry it all on his own.

All the while, Harry ate silently, listening tentatively and nodding and humming whenever it was needed. He didn't interrupt once, never telling Louis to calm down or that he was overreacting.

"...and then he goes to tell me how to live my life, even though he's the one having kids left and right!" Louis exclaimed, deflating and dropping his head on his folded arms, sighing deeply. "He's just such an asshole. Why the fuck my mum is still keeping him around is beyond me."

"I think," Harry said, reaching for a napkin just as Louis lifted his head, "that she's afraid he'll go back to that woman."

Louis sat up again, mindlessly grabbing a chip and putting in his mouth as he thought about what Harry had said. He'd never considered it like that before, but in a way, it made sense. Louis knew his mother still loved his sad excuse of a father, and it obviously wasn't a nice idea to know that her ex-husband had a woman's arms to run into as soon as she called it quits.

She was simply afraid.

"I think you're right," Louis mumbled, taking a sip from his glass, only to realise it was nearly empty. He crinkled his nose. "Did I finish it that quickly?"

"Yeah. You also ate half of my chips," Harry said, wearing a smug smile when he saw the realisation dawn on Louis that he had just, in fact, eaten in public, and hadn't felt self-conscious about it for even a second. "I guess you just need a distraction when you eat."

Louis chuckled, impressed with how swiftly they were able to move on to the next topic. "Guess so, yeah."

"Also," Harry said, a teasing glint in his eyes. "That was the most I've heard you say in one go, ever. You talked for like, ten minutes straight. That has to be a record."

"Would you laugh if I said it was?" Louis said, making Harry grin. "Like I said. I guess I just feel comfortable enough to talk to you."

"Comfortable with rambling to me, comfortable with eating in front of me," Harry summed up, leaning back in his seat and putting one arm over the backrest. "Starting to make me feel special, Louis."

Louis bit his lip, looking down at his lap. "Guess you are."

When he looked up again, Harry was smiling, but it was a type of smile Louis hadn't seen on him before: it was a soft, gentle smile, something very contradicting from the usual amusement or smugness. Louis would almost dare to call it fond.

And then, the moment was abruptly broken when a voice called out: "Harry! Mate, over here!"

When Louis glanced over his shoulder he found Niall approaching their table with a wide grin, and was both disappointed to have the moment interrupted and excited to see Niall again. "Hey, Louis!" He enthusiastically said, putting a hand on Louis' shoulder as he looked at Harry. "Was wondering why you weren't picking your up phone. Didn't know I was interrupting a date, sorry."

Harry glanced at Louis before he shook his head and met Niall's eyes again. "Not a date, lad."

"Ah, my bad. Just figured, with the booth an' all. Pretty romantic choice."

 _Oh, my God_.

"Were you looking for us?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows at Niall who shook his head, his hand still on Louis' shoulder.

"Nah, just went to get some food," he said and then turned to Louis. "Nice to see you again, mate."

"You too," Louis said, adding a smile, although that wasn't very difficult to do: Niall's own grin was very infectious. It was probably very difficult to be in a bad mood around him.

"Hey listen, you should come by sometime this week," Niall said. "We just got the newest Fifa and it's fuckin' sick, you have to come check it out."

Louis couldn't help the grin that spread over his face. They wanted him to hang out more often with them. They wanted to play Fifa with him. He actually had friends. Once again, he felt like he belonged somewhere, and it was a really good feeling to have. "I will, yeah."

Even though Niall didn't seem to be aware of the absolute high Louis felt like he was on right now, Harry definitely did, if his wide smile was anything to go by. He looked almost proud, in a way.

"How about right now?" He suggested, quirking an eyebrow at Louis. "We're done eating anyway."

"Sure," Louis said, nodding and making sure that it wasn't too enthusiastic. He didn't want to give Niall the impression that this was his first time experiencing something like this, even if that was the truth.

"Brilliant," Niall said with a wide grin. "Let me just order and we'll be on our way, yeah?"

As it turned out, Niall wasn't just getting food for himself, but for multiple people. Louis found out as much when Niall walked out of the fast food restaurant carrying enough food to survive another Cold War. He led Louis and Harry to a car parked in the parking lot, which was how Louis found out that Niall was already twenty-one (his birthday was in September, but Louis had already forgotten the date), a surprising fact considering he looked far younger.

("Yeah, I don't look it, do I? Barbs was surprised too when she found out, thought I was seventeen like her.")

Which was how Louis found out that Barbara had turned seventeen last May.

As Niall drove, he and Harry mostly talked to each other. Louis was sat in the back and kept silent, watching how the car went further and further into far more poverty-stricken neighbourhoods, the regular houses replaced by poorly maintained flats. He didn't allow any prejudiced thoughts to filter through and tried to keep any judgement at bay.

After all, he knew little to nothing about the situations people could be living in. If anything, judgement should be kept neutral till there was enough knowledge about a situation to make up your mind about it. Louis' own life taught him as much.

The flat was small and cramped. In order to get to the main living area, Louis had to manoeuvre past a bicycle, a big pile of shoes, two skateboards and a cupboard that was missing a door. That Niall managed to get to the living room without dropping any of the food was a miracle in and of its own.

As soon as the front door had opened, Louis was met with loud voices, less loud music and a strong smell of smoke and something that strongly reminded him of burnt popcorn. The living room had two mismatched, rather dirty couches and two armchairs, also of questionable sanitation but the same style. The furniture was worn-out and crammed together, the wooden coffee table taking up so much space people were forced to put their feet on it. There was a tv hanging on the wall, a game of Fifa in full swing.

"Everyone!" Harry called out, momentarily earning the attention of everyone in the room, three of which Louis recognised as Barbara, Liam and Luke. "This is Louis. Be nice."

"Nice to meet you, mate!" One guy said as everyone called out various greetings, focusing back on the Fifa match on the telly. He leaned over Luke and another guy, holding out his hand for Louis to shake. "Ashton."

Louis gave him a smile, shaking his hand. He let go quickly when it was obvious that Ashton wanted to go back to watching the game, and turned around to find Harry and Niall again, who he spotted in what had to be the world's tiniest kitchen. After taking off his jacket and tossing it on top of the pile of jackets on the floor beside one of the couches, he padded over to the two guys putting food on plates.

Harry sent him a smile when he noticed Louis joining them. "You met everyone already?"

Louis shook his head. "Only Ashton."

"I'll introduce you to the rest in a bit, yeah?" Harry said. After Louis nodded, he focused on grabbing more plates and dividing the food over it.

"So," Louis started, glancing at Niall as he talked to include him in the conversation as well. "Do you live here together?"

"With Liam," Niall said, grabbing multiple beer cans from the fridge that had Louis widen his eyes a little. "But the others might as well live here too. We have people over, like, all the time."

It sounded completely exhausting to Louis, who personally liked a bit of peace and quiet in his life—nevermind his whole life was peace and quiet.

When the food was properly divided, Louis helped carry it to the living room where the volume had doubled, the people on the couches shouting at the telly and cheering for the two who were playing(Barbara against Luke, and Barbara was winning). The music was still playing, which only made it so much more chaotic.

They cheered when Harry and Louis put the food on the coffee table, and Niall tossed a couple of the beer cans to various people holding out their hands, handing one to Louis and another one to Harry before sitting down on the floor, in front of one of the couches.

Louis stared at the can in his hand speechlessly. He had never drunk alcohol before and didn't even know people his age could be that casual about it, either.

"Alright, so," Harry said, nudging his arm and pointing to the group, oblivious of what Louis could only dub as his culture shock. "Guy with green hair, yeah? That's Michael, everyone calls him Mikey or summat."

Louis nodded in acknowledgement.

"That's Calum, he's sixteen like you," Harry continued, and Louis briefly wondered how Harry knew his age. "And that's Nick, he's the oldest here. Total prick."

"Oi!" A dark-haired guy called out, tossing a pillow at Harry who dodged it with a grin. 'Nick' didn't follow it up with anything else.

When Harry glanced at Louis, he found the latter staring at the beer can in his hands and nudged him again. "I can get you something else?" He offered, and Louis nearly said yes.

But then he looked around the room and found everyone drinking beer, a voice in the back of his mind immediately telling him that if he wouldn't drink as well, he'd stick out like a sore thumb. His shyness made him stand apart from the regular crowd enough already, he could at least try to fit in.

So he looked at Harry again, smiled, and said, "No, it's fine."

Harry grinned. "Cool."

"Louis! Come sit next to me!" Barbara suddenly called out, inviting Louis over by patting a spot beside her on the couch, miraculously not taken already (or created just now for Louis). She was clearly finished with her game, and the others were now deciding on a new set of teams and who got to play next.

When Louis didn't immediately respond, baffled by the fact that someone invited him to sit next to them, Harry gave him a discreet push to get Louis to move, who, after sending Harry a grateful smile, climbed over many legs to get to Barbara.

She looked genuinely excited to see him, leaning over and giving him a hug as he sat down beside her. "It's so nice to see you again! Was wondering when you'd hang out with us again," she said with a beautiful bright smile that was so infectious, Louis automatically returned it.

"Here I am," he said, a rather awkward reply. It made Barbara giggle, though, so it was all fine.

"Here you are," she said, and then pointed to his can. "Do you need help opening it?"

Louis quickly shook his head and cracked the can open, taking a sip just to show that he was equally as cool as the other people in the room. A bitter taste spread through his mouth, and he had to suppress a repulsed expression. He had an act to keep up here, there was no room for error.

"Louis! Your turn!" Niall suddenly called out, leaning over and handing Louis a controller.

Louis noted Barbara taking his beer from him to allow him to play, and he pulled a sheepish expression. "I've never actually played before," he admitted, feeling like an idiot for some reason.

"Good, that means I get to crush your arse," the guy who Louis was pretty sure was Michael said with a grin.

"Fuck off," Barbara said, adding a laugh and shaking her head. She turned to Louis again. "Don't worry pet, we'll talk you through it. It's easy, yeah?"

Louis nodded silently, secretly fawning over 'pet'.

Niall slapped his shin with a playful grin and winked. "I'll help you destroy this loser," he said, jutting his thumb out to Michael who looked so outraged that Louis had to laugh at his expression.

He sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening up there that he could get to hang out with these people again, and often.

He was starting to get a bit attached.


	7. seven.

 

𝕤𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟

 

By the time it was eight pm, Barbara announced that she had to go home. Niall, who would drive her home, offered to give Louis a ride, who gratefully took up on the offer. And if he had to urge to cry in happiness because everyone conveyed disappointment at his departure, then that was nobody's business but his own.

"Did you have fun?" Harry asked him as he shrugged on his jacket in the cramped hall, away from the others and the chaos inside the living room.

Louis nodded with a smile. He was just the tiniest bit more loose-lipped from the beer he had drunk earlier; he was a lightweight, never having had alcohol before, so it was easy for it to have an effect on him. Not that it wasn't welcome. "I did. Your friends are nice."

"Didn't I tell you they were yours as well?" Harry said with a grin that Louis returned with a light blush. He told himself it didn't mean anything when Harry took a small step closer. "You should come by more often."

"I should?" Louis asked in surprise. He still had to get used to the idea of people wanting to voluntarily be around him.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. You're fun to hang out with."

Louis found it difficult to believe. "I barely spoke five words," he said, summing up reasons as if he was trying to convince Harry never to hang out with him again. "And I suck at FIFA. There's not much fun about me."

"Tell that to the all the disappointed people in there," Harry pointed out, jutting his chin in the direction of the living room. Louis only smiled, grateful about the fact that Harry always insisted on reassuring him about everything.

He zipped up his jacket and grabbed his bag off the floor, swinging it over his shoulder and turning to Harry again, who was already staring at him. "I'll see you at school tomorrow?"

Harry nodded. "Speaking of school," he said, his eyes turning thoughtful. "When do you reckon you can tutor me again?"

Louis shrugged idly. "I'm always free, so." He frowned for a moment. "Although, we'll have to do it at my place, because if you stand me up again, at least I'll be at home."

Despite the rather rude accusation, Harry still chuckled. He suddenly reached over and brushed some hair behind Louis' ear, Louis freezing in complete surprise. "I promise I won't stand you up again," he said, dropping his hand again (Louis had the desire to put the hand back on his cheek). "How about somewhere next week? On a day your parents are home late?"

"Tuesday?" Louis suggested, his eyes unconsciously flickering to Harry's throat, which bobbed as he swallowed. "After school?"

Harry grinned and nodded. "Sure," he said. "Thanks, by the way. You're really pulling through for me here."

"Isn't that what friends do for each other?" Louis said, biting his lip and very much aware of Harry staring at his mouth.

"Yeah," the latter said, meeting Louis' eyes again. "Friends."

It was right then that Niall and Barbara entered the hall as well, oblivious to what they had just walked in on. Then again, Louis wasn't really sure what they had walked in on either. "You ready to go?" Niall asked Louis, who nodded. "Cool. Let's go."

"I'll see you around, Lou," Harry said with a smile, the previous tense air completely disappeared.

"See you," Louis said, and wondered if it was intentional when he turned around and the backs of their hands brushed together.

When he climbed into the backseat of Niall's car, he told himself that, of course, it hadn't been intentional. Throughout the whole night, it had been clear that there was still something between Harry and Luke, despite Harry telling Louis that they had broken up a while ago. They had constantly been all over each other, giving unnecessary touches like hooking their legs together or putting arms around each other's shoulders. Luke was even playing with Harry's curls at one point, which proved to Louis that there was definitely still something there.

It wasn't his business, however. Harry's romantic relationships were his personal business and nothing for Louis to make a judgement about, and especially nothing for him to get involved in.

Still, the fact that he tried to imagine what it would be like to hold Harry's hand when he saw Niall and Barbara doing exactly that proved to himself that he wanted maybe a little more involvement in Harry's love life than that he claimed to want.

After giving Niall his address, Louis leaned back in the seats and kept silent, choosing to listen to Niall and Barbara talk about casual topics with no real importance. He let his mind wander a bit, going over the events of that week; how he had skipped class on Monday, had found out he may have a half-sibling and hung out with Harry on Tuesday, and now he had hung out with Harry and his friends— _their_  friends—again. It had been an eventful week, and Louis wasn't really sure what to make from all of it.

"So," Louis said when it got silent in the car and he realised he'd rather have some meaningless conversation than silence. "What are you guys going to do for your anniversary next week?"

Barbara cooed and turned in her seat so that she could look at Louis. "You remembered?"

"Yeah, eight months, right?" Louis said, wondering if it was weird that he had remembered something he had been told. Did friends  _not_  remember these kinds of things about each other?

"Yeah, almost a full pregnancy," Niall joked, making Louis and Barbara chuckle. "Don't know what we're going to do, really. You got any suggestions?"

Because Louis was such a Casanova?

"Uh," he said, racking his brain for something that wasn't insanely cliche. "Maybe you could recreate your first date?"

Barbara gasped in wonder, turning to Niall. "We should totally do that!" She said with an excited smile. "We went bowling, right?"

Niall nodded. "Sure. We'll do that, then. Thanks, lad."

"Sure," Louis said with a proud grin, looking out the car window and feeling more than a little satisfied with himself.

"Louis, give me your phone," Barbara said, holding out her hand with a sweet smile that had Louis succumb immediately: he realised that it had to be stupidly easy for Barbara to get Niall to do things for her, considering that she could get Louis to comply without persistence, and he didn't even have feelings for her.

"I'll give you my number," she said, handing Louis her own unlocked phone. "Add yours."

Right as they were done exchanging phone numbers, Niall pulled up in front of Louis' house. "Thanks for the ride," Louis said, pocketing his phone again.

Niall gave him a grin and reached out to give Louis a low-five followed by a fist bump (that Louis miraculously didn't mess up, someone please give him an improvisation-award). "No problem, lad," he said. "Don't be a stranger, yeah?"

"Yeah," Louis said, giving him a smile. As he climbed out of the car, Barbara did the same and without warning, gave him a hug that he happily returned.

"I'll ring you, yeah?" She said, and Louis nodded, secretly hoping that she was going to keep it to texting instead of actually calling. "See you around, babes."

"See you," Louis said, fawning over 'babes' as Barbara climbed back into the car. Niall honked twice while Louis walked up to the front door before he drove off, leaving Louis with a grin as he opened his front door.

His grin disappeared when he realised he had never informed his parents about where he had been. He also hadn't told them that he wasn't going to be home for dinner—as it turned out, it was a lot easier to eat in front of people when you had someone as kind as Barbara beside you. Louis had just been having so much fun, he had completely forgotten about his parents: it was probably partly for that reason that he had been having fun.

He wasn't too surprised when his father stormed into the hall, his face contorted in anger and fists balled up, clearly ready for a fight. "Where were you, boy?" He said—or spat, rather.

"A friend's place," Louis mumbled, staring at the floor and wondering if the man in front of him was going to get physical again. He wasn't really sure what to expect from his father anymore, considering he was hiding a kid and all.

"What friends?" His dad said, which stung a lot more than Louis wanted it to. "That Harry figure you made up?"

"I didn't make him up," Louis weakly said, wondering if his dad truly thought him to be that pathetic or if he was just saying it to mess with him.

His mother chose that moment to walk into the hall as well. "Hi, sweetheart," she said with a smile that probably meant for Louis to feel better, but instead just came over as fake and meaningless. "Can you let us know next time you're at a friend's place? We were worried about you."

His father sneered. "He doesn't have any friends."

"I do," Louis immediately said, narrowing his eyes in defence. "What's your problem? You're always on my back to get friends, and then when I do, you refuse to believe they're real."

"Watch your tone," his dad said, pointing a finger at Louis a tad too fast, which made Louis flinch just the slightest. He didn't know what to make of the satisfaction in his father's eyes when he saw Louis flinch. "Go up to your room. Don't come out till you learn to have some respect for me and your mother."

Who needed to learn to have respect? The teenager who was defending themselves or the man who had a kid with a woman outside his own marriage?

Louis looked over to his mum, hoping for her to stand up for him, but she only smiled apologetically as if to say, 'What can you do?'. After a couple of seconds, he gave up and slinked off to his room, pretending like he didn't hear the fight exploding downstairs as he slammed the door to his bedroom shut, resisting the desire to shatter a window with his bare hands.

Fuck his father. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him. He didn't deserve his mother, and he sure as hell didn't deserve to get away with the things he was getting away with. God, Louis felt ready to go downstairs and beat up the sad excuse of a father inside his house. He wasn't going to, because unfortunately, he didn't have the strength to actually win. It only took a single glance to see that Louis did not inherit his athletic inabilities from his father—no, he had his mother to thank for that.

**Parents suck**

**_want me to kill them for you?_ **

**Make it look like an accident**

**_you got it love_ **

Somehow, despite feeling angrier than he had been all week, the simple joke and use of 'love' had Louis in a much better mood. Harry always seemed to be capable of making Louis feel lighter, as if his life wasn't that bad, as if there was a bit of hope.

Suddenly, a loud bang downstairs interrupted Louis' thoughts and brought him back to the harsh reality of his life. He recognised the sound as that of the front door, and when he walked over to his bedroom window, saw his father storm to his car (a Volvo XC90: Louis had dubbed his father as 'Suburban Dad' the moment the car had been bought). His father got into the vehicle and sped off, leaving Louis to wonder if his mother had finally kicked him out, or if his dad had taken off for the night.

He sincerely hoped it was the first option because it was starting to become difficult to express how done he was with his father using only his words (he was ready to whack his dad, was what he was trying to say).

**Are you free to talk?**

Louis didn't expect a 'yes' or even a reply, yet, despite that, still wasn't surprised when Harry called him less than a minute later. It was almost like Harry didn't want Louis to lose his call minutes.

" _What happened?_ " Was the first thing Harry said when Louis picked up, the concern strongly evident in his voice. " _Something bad?_ "

"Sort of," Louis said, biting his lip as he carefully thought about his next words. "Dad wasn't happy that I didn't tell him where I was. He thought I made you and the others up."

Harry scoffed dryly. " _Fucker_ ," he said, and Louis agreed by nodding vigorously, even though he was aware—for once—that Harry couldn't see him. " _You need me to pay him a visit or summat? Show him just how real I actually am?_ "

It didn't take a genius to know that Harry had violence in mind, something that Louis supposed was normal in his life. It didn't make it any less chilling, however, because the idea of having the option to send someone after his own father was not the most comfortable one. His dad might be a worthless nobody, but even that went a bit too far for Louis.

"No, that's alright," he finally said, aware that the silent contemplation had probably made Harry think Louis would eventually agree to it. "Even if I wanted to, I have no idea where he is. He took off, like, two minutes ago."

" _No kidding? Why?_ " Harry asked, continuing before Louis could reply himself. " _Did he split? Shit, did your mum kick him out?_ "

"I don't know," Louis said. "I hope my mum kicked him out, but... I don't know. She never does anything."

" _What do you mean?_ "

Louis hesitated with answering, wondering if he should tell Harry. He knew Harry already knew a lot, but that didn't mean he had to know everything. There were some things (like how Louis' father had been getting physical lately) that Louis didn't want to admit, especially not to someone he was befriending; he didn't want to scare people off.

Finally, he sighed. "She just doesn't understand that there's a concept known as 'standing up for someone'," he said. "Jesus, the only time she stood up for me against my dad was when he—"

_When he hit me in front of her._

Not exactly a sentence he could finish.

"Whatever, nevermind, it's not important," he weakly said. "She just doesn't stand up for me, ever. Or for herself."

There was a small silence as Harry went over his words, clearly trying to fill in the blank Louis had left. " _If it helps any,_ " he eventually said, speaking slowly, " _you can stay at my place when things get too intense. I know how fucked it can be_."

Louis swallowed thickly. The idea was appealing, to leave his own place and to just stay with Harry and his mates until college came around. He would move out for college anyway, so leaving earlier probably wouldn't make a difference: not a real one.

"You would be okay with that?" he asked in surprise. He couldn't imagine offering up his own house to a practical stranger.

" _Obviously,_ " Harry said and chuckled airily. " _Jesus, how many times do I have to tell you that we're friends?_ "

Probably every single day, because Louis was starting to see that he was the type of person that needed a lot of reassurance.

" _I mean, that's why you wanted to call, innit? You wouldn't vent to a complete stranger._ "

Louis thought about it for a moment. The conclusion he came too was clean-cut enough. "I called you because..." he exhaled softly. "I called because hearing your voice calms me down."

That created a whole new atmosphere, one that was far more intimate than before. Louis could practically feel the air thickening between him and Harry, which was impressive, considering that there was a fifteen-minute drive between their current positions.

" _I'm glad_ ," Harry softly said, his tone of voice fitting for the intimate air. " _If you need me again, you can call whenever. You don't need to ask_."

"Thank you," Louis whispered, a small smile fighting its way to his lips.

" _Of course_."

Louis glanced out of his window again, finding himself wishing that Harry was behind it, knocking on the glass for Louis to let him in. Harry was right: it was very Romeo and Juliet. "I think I'm going to hang up now. Getting a bit tired."

" _Socially exhausted, eh?_ " Harry joked, causing Louis to chuckle. " _I'll let you sleep. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?_ "

"Yeah," Louis said, closing his curtains and briefly wondering if his dad was going to sleep at a hotel tonight. "Good night, Harry."

" _Good night, Lou_."

Louis hung up, unable to keep a big smile from spreading over his face. It stayed on when he changed into more suitable sleepwear, when he went to brush his teeth and even when he realised he had unfinished homework for tomorrow.

Only when he laid down in bed and switched off the lights did the realisation sink in that, maybe, just maybe, he had a small crush on Harry.

And that was a pretty terrifying thing to realise.

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

Realising you had a crush on someone was one thing. Having to come to terms with it and then actually try to ignore (and, perhaps, demolish it in the process) was a whole other thing. Especially when, after a week of continuous convincing that Louis did  _not_ have a small crush on Harry did nothing for the quickening of his heartbeat every time he set eyes on Harry.

He had been trying to push the still growing feelings away, something that he was good at with anger and sadness, but something that was impossible to do when it came down to...  _those_ type of feelings. It was even more difficult to do when he saw Harry every single day. The latter was always trying to be around Louis, most likely because of the friendship issues Louis had been a bit too honest about before, and this proved to a bit of a problem because Louis didn't want to like Harry as any more than a friend.

Yet he did.

It was difficult to figure out if Harry had some sort of similar interest in Louis like Louis had in him, as Louis was aware of what was clearly unresolved tension between him and Luke. In the last week, Louis had hung out with, what he supposed was, his new friend group twice, and both times, he had witnessed what was far too much affection between Harry and Luke.

There were not-so-subtle subtle touches, like touching each other on the hand or arm, unnecessarily putting their hands on each other's legs and knees, or even playing with each other's hair sometimes. Louis knew they were exes, so there was bound to be something left unresolved, but that didn't make it much easier for him to figure things out.

Especially when he took into account that Harry acted the same with him. Maybe not as touchy, but touchy enough. He seemed to have worked out that Louis wasn't too appreciative when it came to physical touch but that he was the only one who Louis didn't mind to be touched by. How he managed to see it Louis wasn't sure, but it wasn't like he minded it much.

He just knew that when Harry put an arm around his shoulders, he didn't have the same desire to shake it off like with Niall. And that was an adventure to go on, trying to understand why his response to Harry was so different to everyone else.

Whatever the reason was, it didn't stop him from spending days on end staring at Harry when the latter wasn't looking, pining over his stupid good looks and indisputable charm. He spent an entire Wednesday afternoon on Harry's Instagram and Snapchat (Harry had added him, and his heartbeat had may or may not quickened at the notification), staring at posts and wondering whether God got tired after creating Harry and just left the rest of the people he created a little bit ugly.

By the time it was a Friday night, Louis had already drawn Harry five more times, each drawing the tiniest bit more detailed than the last. When Harry had posted a picture of himself with a friend inside some indoor pool, Louis had put far too much effort into getting Harry's abs just right, maybe a little envious that Harry had a body like a Greek God yet had the lifestyle of a Geordie Shore contestant. He drank and smoked a lot, but then again, who was Louis to judge?

And if he got a half hard on when his mind starting wandering off into what exactly he could do to Harry's abs, then there was no one who could prove it.

So here he was, pining another Friday night away in his bedroom by his desk, listening to his parents in the worst fight of that week yet. Unfortunately, Louis' father had returned the very next morning as if nothing had happened, which was more than a little frustrating for Louis, who just wanted  _some fucking normalcy for once, is that too much to ask?_

The new drawing in his notebook was, surprisingly enough, not of Harry, but of Niall. Louis was drawing him in the midst of a laugh, as he had started to adore Niall's laugh. It was loud and boisterous, one of the most sincere laughs Louis had ever witnessed. The sound was far from pretty, but it was incredibly endearing. Drawing it was difficult because there was a lot of emotion for Louis to put in a couple of lines, meaning that he had done a lot of erasing because he just couldn't get the bloody upper lip right.

When his phone buzzed, it was almost embarrassing how quickly he abandoned his art and lunged for the device. He knew who had texted him without even having to check: Harry. He and Harry texted a lot, despite Harry always saying that he found it too impersonal. Louis found calling too personal. It was a whole discussion they had yet to resolve, but it was a bit cute, in a way. At least, to Louis it was.

 **_do u remember what juliet_ **  
_**said when romeo was under** _  
**_her balcony?_ **

Despite it being a fairly odd question to send out of the blue, Louis wasn't surprised. Most of their text conversations started this way. After a quick Google search (Louis wasn't a drama student, don't blame him), he replied to Harry's message, aware that it was quiet downstairs again. At least no parent running out of the house this time.

 **O Romeo, Romeo!**  
**wherefore art thou Romeo?**

 **_say it again but replace romeo_ **  
**_with my name and do it_ **  
**_with your window open_ **

Louis grinned widely at the message, immediately understanding the hint, and put his phone down, walking over to his window. Just as he expected, Harry was behind it with a smug look on his face. The simple sight of him had Louis' heartbeat quickening.

"Hi," he said, climbing inside and closing the window before fully turning to Louis, flicking his curls from his forehead. Louis had the desire to run a hand through Harry's hair. "You missed me?"

How bad Louis wanted to answer yes, that he had missed Harry despite having seen him a couple of hours ago at school. Instead of allowing that type of vulnerability, Louis' opted on a bit more of a lighthearted response. "Wherefore art thou here?" He asked, stupidly proud of himself when Harry laughed.

"Nice one, well found," he said, taking a glance at Louis' door. "Is that locked?"

"Haven't got a lock."

"We'll have to install one, then."

Louis wondered if Harry meant what he said, about installing a lock in a door to a room he'd only been in three times (excluding today), but didn't have the time to dwell on it when Harry stalked over to his closet and shamelessly started rummaging through it.

"What are you doing?" Louis inquired, wrapping his arms around himself when he felt a breeze coming from the window Harry hadn't properly closed.

"I'm taking you to a party."

Which was the last answer Louis expected. "I—no."

"Yes," Harry said, glancing at him with a playful grin. "Wasn't a question, love."

Louis ignored the butterflies from the nickname and instead pulled an irritated expression which was too fake for passing. "I don't want to."

"I need a plus one," Harry said, suddenly throwing a shirt at Louis who didn't have the reflexes to catch it in time, resulting in the t-shirt hitting him in the face. Louis blushed furiously at Harry's chuckles and picked the shirt off the floor, finding that it was his never-before-worn Pulp Fiction t-shirt, Mia Wallace on the floor and smoking a cigarette.

"Take Niall."

"You think he ain't taking his girl?"

"Liam, then. Whatever," Louis said, his eyes narrowing a little when he remembered, "Luke."

Harry shook his head, unaware of the not-so-subtle jealousy Louis had allowed to escape. "I want to take you," he said, and Louis had trouble getting rid of the butterflies that made a spectacular return. Harry held up a pair of black, ripped skinny jeans with a frown, looking at Louis. "How come I've never seen you in these before?"

"I don't fit them."

"Bullshit," Harry said, tossing the jeans at Louis who managed to catch them, although just barely. "Put the clothes on already."

The problem was that Louis genuinely didn't fit the jeans. He had bought them before the summer holiday, and by the time this school year had started, he had either gained weight or his legs had magically grown in size because he couldn't get the jeans past his thighs. It had been a very harsh moment because he hadn't actually been very self-conscious about his weight up until that point.

Louis knew that he and Harry were both guys and that it wasn't weird to get changed in front of each other (they had PE together, come on), but a wave of insecurity suddenly crashed down on him, and he found himself walking over to his door. "Don't make a sound, my parents will hear you," he warned Harry, who grinned instead of giving a verbal response.

Not too keen on the idea of leaving Harry alone in his bedroom, Louis made quick work of getting changed—well, it went quick but came to a screeching halt when he got to his jeans. He held them up in front of him, furrowing his brows together. A single glance told him they were too small, yet here he was, about to change into them.

It took him seven minutes. It started with the multiple tries to get his toes past all the holes, and then he had to jump around to try and get them over his thighs and, even more so, his bum, which he swore got even bigger than the last time he tried to get these stupid jeans on.

When he finally managed to put them on fully, he didn't know what to think as he glanced in the mirror, balancing on the edge of the bathtub (the mirror wasn't floor length, he needed to improvise a bit). The jeans looked painted on and barely had enough fabric left for Louis to stretch his legs, which resulted in him doing a couple of questionable squats to try and loosen the fabric a little.

All it resulted in was a lot of dread for the upcoming night.

When he returned to his bedroom and closed the door again, he became very much aware of Harry's eyes raking over his body as if he was artwork for someone to feast their eyes on. Harry's eyes dropped to his legs, slowly dragging over them until they reached Louis' torso, continuing their path to Louis' red face.

"Too tight, right?" Louis said, glancing at his legs that he thought looked massive from his own angle.

"Fuck," Harry muttered, shaking his head and earning Louis' gaze. "You look really good. Wear that more often, would you?"

It resulted in more than a couple of heart palpitations on Louis' part. "Thank you," Louis said quietly, begging for his mind not to wander.

Harry cleared his throat and looked away, his cheeks tinted a light red. "Put on your shoes, yeah?" He said, and Louis did as he said, reaching for the shoes he had kicked off by his bed.

When he glanced up his eyes fell on Harry who had turned his body away from him a little, but not enough to hide the subtle readjustment he did by his crotch. It had Louis' cheeks flaming, to say the least.

After putting on a hoodie and then a jacket (it was ten degrees Celsius, he couldn't be blamed) he and Harry were climbing out his window. Louis had turned off the lights in his room and had even made a fake him out of pillows under his blanket in case his parents were to get the sudden idea to check on him; they had never done so before, but he wasn't about to take the risk now.

"So, whose party are you forcing me to go to?" Louis asked after a couple of awkwardly silence minutes, his hands pushed deep into his pockets. He had always hated the cold, and despite it being only October, the temperature was already quite low.

"Mate of a mate," Harry said, glancing at Louis, his eyes indiscreetly dropping to Louis' legs. "You don't need to be nervous."

"...I'm not."

"You suck at lying, Lou."

The hesitation thing again. Louis still didn't have a grip on it. "Whatever."

Harry snorted and nudged Louis' side, giving him a playful grin. Just like that, the awkwardness was dissolved. "You can stick to me all night, yeah? Cling as all fuck," he said. "I'm just trying to expand your social circle."

"I appreciate that," Louis said, biting his lip, "but you understand that I'm introverted by nature, right? You can't change who I am as a person. I'm always going to, you know, be withdrawn."

"I get it," Harry said, sending him a reassuring smile. "You're not withdrawn, though. A bit shy, yeah, but not withdrawn."

"Is there a difference?"

"Obviously," Harry said, grabbing Louis' elbow when he suddenly went into an alley and Louis nearly missed the turn, pulling him along. "Withdrawn people don't want to talk to other people. Shy people want to, they just have trouble with talking. You know, they want to, but they're just afraid of saying something wrong or that they'll embarrass themselves."

Louis was at a loss of words. He knew Harry was an understanding person, the guy had proved as much, but that he was actually this intelligent was something new in its entirety.

"You used to be shy, then?" Louis asked, making a logical assumption from what didn't just sound like understanding, but what sounded like personal experience.

Instead of giving a proper reply, Harry curtly shrugged and kept his gaze ahead of himself.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know."

"So?"

Harry sighed and chuckled dryly, shaking his head to himself. "You're always so pushy," he said, and it was left at that because they were suddenly walking over to a house a little bigger than Louis' own.

Almost instantly, nerves spiked Louis' body. He became deeply aware of the fact that there were going to be a lot of people inside the house and that it was going to be cramped and probably very hot and loud. He could already hear a faint bass from the music inside, so he could only imagine what the volume actually was.

"You good?" Harry asked as he rang the doorbell, and Louis gave a stiff nod. "Relax, Louis. Just cling to me, yeah?"

Louis nodded again and managed to add a weak, "Okay."

When the front door was opened by a complete stranger that greeted them enthusiastically (or, Harry, at least), Louis instinctively reached out and grabbed Harry's elbow.

Clinging was probably going to be his main focus tonight.


	8. eight.

 

𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥

 

"What was that girl's name again?"

It wasn't like Louis had intentionally forgotten the party's host's name. He had just been so overwhelmed by the whole new scene in front of him, that he hadn't paid attention to the blonde girl's name. What he had noticed, however, was how she was all over Harry, and Louis had responded to that by stepping closer to Harry and tightening his grip on Harry's elbow. Harry wasn't his to be jealous over, but that didn't mean he was just going to let everyone flirt with Harry. He'd like to have some chance, thank you very much.

Harry glanced at Louis when he asked the question, an amused smirk on his lips. "Taylor," he answered, pulling Louis through the crowd that was dancing and talking, not paying them any mind.

"Do we like Taylor?" Louis asked, gripping Harry's elbow a little tighter, absolutely terrified of accidentally losing him in the crowd.

Harry snorted and shook his head. "Nobody likes Taylor," he said, his hand grabbing the edge of Louis' shirt—the hand attached to the arm Louis was clinging onto. "She throws sick parties, though."

Louis could only imagine what a bad party would look like if this was what a 'sick' one looked like.

They ended up in the kitchen, where they found Niall and Barbara, among a few strangers. Louis was forced to let go of Harry when Barbara hugged him almost immediately upon spotting him, a little bit uncomfortable when she kissed his cheek enthusiastically. He didn't say anything, however, as he was pretty sure that if he would utter his discomfort out loud he'd offend Barbara, who clearly had a few drinks already. Besides, he was happy to see her, so he could handle a kiss on the cheek.

"Louis!" she exclaimed, giving him a bright smile. Even drunk, she was utterly beautiful. "You came!"

"Yeah," Louis said, offering a small smile that was a lot less bright than hers. When he glanced over at Harry, he found the latter over with Niall, who clapped their hands together and then hugged, patting each other on the back. Louis expected the same to happen with himself, but instead, Niall ruffled his hair as if he was a kid, and grinned widely.

"Glad to see you made it, lad," he said, and Louis didn't exactly know how to feel about the fact that Niall treated him as if he so much younger than him. They were only three years and three months apart, so the age gap wasn't that big, right?

"Thanks," Louis said, at a loss as to what else was fitting to say.

Niall then glanced at his legs, his grin turning a bit knowing. "Nice jeans, mate," he said, meeting Louis' eyes again. "You trying to pull tonight?"

Not really. Louis wouldn't even know  _how_  to do that, and if he did know, who would even be interested in having sex with him? It was Harry who had forced him to wear the jeans, which was why Louis glanced over at Harry who was mixing some drinks from the wide arrangement of bottles on the counter, laughing at something Barbara was saying to him.

Niall mistook his glance as an answer. He threw his head back and laughed. "Should've known," he said, and Louis opened his mouth to try and tell Niall that no,  _no_ , that's not what he meant, but Niall didn't notice and kept talking. "Wouldn't be worried about it, mate. He's been trying to get with you since he met you, trust me."

Even though Niall had clearly meant it as encouragement, it didn't exactly feel too great. It sounded as if Harry was only hanging around Louis until Louis would put out, and then he'd just up and leave again. Louis sincerely hoped that wasn't the case, as his crush for Harry was starting to get very serious, and from the way Harry behaved around him, he had been starting to get the idea that Harry felt the same, if not similar.

"I—thanks?" Louis said, not really sure how to respond. "What about, like, Luke?"

"What about him?" Niall said. "They broke up, remember? Even if they hadn't, why should that stop you? Nothing wrong with a one-night stand if the relationship is shit anyway."

Louis wasn't sure if he liked Niall's philosophy, as he had witnessed infidelity firsthand with his parents, and had seen that the consequences were anything but positive. He didn't want to be responsible for destroying a relationship, not now he knew exactly what the consequences were. He couldn't bear to have that on his conscience.

Because Niall's reply had actually offended Louis a little, he didn't say anything back and looked at Harry, who always seemed to have impeccable timing, because he walked over right that moment. He handed Louis a plastic cup, which Louis took with a slight crinkle in his nose.

Harry chuckled at his expression. "It's not poisoned, I promise."

"Then what is it?" Louis asked, tempted to sniff the drink but also too focused on not coming over as a complete wimp. It was probably well known that he had never drunk before, so he could at least try to come over as unbothered.

"It's rum and coke, you know, Bacardi?" Harry replied, a grin playing on his lips. "It's good."

"Also fucking gay, did you get a vagina with that as well?" Niall said and laughed when Harry slapped him on the back of the head. Louis watched how they got into a small playful fight, impressed that Harry didn't spill the drink he was still holding.

He took the moment of distraction to take a small, exploring sip from his cup. The liquid tasted faintly of coke, but it mostly burned his mouth and his throat in a not entirely unpleasant way. He swallowed it quickly to prevent himself from coughing (and subsequently making a fool out of himself), an oddly warm feeling settling in his stomach. It felt good, making his body warm up and leaving behind a pleasant light burn in his throat and mouth.

He decided that really fucking liked alcohol.

"Good, right?" Barbara asked, suddenly joining Louis' side and giving the still wrestling Niall and Harry a glance, shaking her head fondly.

"Yeah, actually," Louis said, taking another sip, one that was a lot bigger than the last.

Barbara smiled at him, looking a little proud. "Just don't go too fast, yeah? Since you're not used to it and stuff."

Louis nodded, making a mental note to take it slow and drink a lot of water. The mental note didn't stop him from taking another sip—it genuinely tasted good, he couldn't really help himself.

"Louis!" A voice suddenly called out, and when Louis turned around, he found Liam stumbling over to him, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "You're here!"

"Yeah," Louis said, putting on a grin without much trouble, as Liam's excitement at seeing him made it very easy.

"What are you having?" Liam slurred, peering into Louis' cup with a frown. He was clearly drunk already, something that was quite funny to see.

Louis chuckled a little at his confused expression. "Rum and coke."

"Fuckin' love that," Liam muttered to himself, patting Louis' shoulder a couple times. "Chug it and get another one and come to the basement with the others, yeah?"

"We smoking up?" Niall asked, he and Harry finally finished with their wrestle contest.

Liam only nodded, and Niall cheered. He grabbed Harry's cup and downed it in one go, giving Harry the middle finger and a grin when the latter exclaimed a loud "Oi!", before following Liam to—presumably—the basement.

"Fucker," Harry said, although his grin proved he was far from annoyed. He glanced at Louis, the grin unfaltering, and nodded to his cup. "Want another one?"

Louis quickly chugged the rest of the contents of his cup, and with a slightly scrunched up face when the burn got a little too intense and actually tasted a bit foul, nodded. Harry grinned in amusement, grabbing his cup and returning to the bottles, telling him and Barbara, "Go ahead, I'll catch up."

So Barbara grabbed Louis' arm and started pulling him back into the crowd towards the basement. "Hey, I'm going shopping this Sunday, do you want to come with?" She asked as she opened a door, and Louis nodded.

"Don't think I know much about clothes, though," he said, noticing that the alcohol was already taking effect and that he was a bit more comfortable with speaking now. The fact that only a single cup already had an effect on him proved he truly wasn't used to hard liquor. "I mean, have you seen me? I only wear, like, hoodies and stuff."

Barbara laughed at his comment as they started descending the stairs. "Then I'll teach you a little something about fashion."

When they got downstairs, Louis noticed that the basement was far from the horror type he had imagined, with a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling and leaking pipes; instead, it looked cosy. There were a couple of couches and armchairs set around a coffee table with a rug under it. On the other side of the room were a pool table and a football table.

The music was a lot more muffled now, more of background noise than a loud, constant sound.

There were a couple of people spread through the room, two of which were Niall and Liam, and Louis recognised Luke as well, although he wasn't very sure if he was so excited about that. He recognised Ashton and Nick too, but that was about it. Still, it was uncommon for him to recognise anybody at all, and now he knew more than half of the people inside the room, something he was a little bit proud of.

Barbara walked over to armchair Niall was in and sat down on his lap. Niall immediately wound an arm around her waist despite being engrossed in rolling what Louis knew wasn't an ordinary cigarette with Liam. When he realised he was just standing around awkwardly, Louis walked over to one of the couches that were occupied by Nick and sat down, very much aware that he had never actually spoken with Nick before.

So he said, "Hi."

"Alright?" Nick replied, and Louis was nearly annoyed by how effortlessly cool all of his friends (were they friends?) were; they were so unbothered by everything, Louis honestly wished he could have the same mentality.

"Nick, right?" Louis said (as if he'd forget someone's name. Oh, wait, he did, that girl Taylor), and Nick nodded.

"Louis, right?" He jokingly repeated, making Louis chuckle. "We met, like, a week ago, yeah?"

"Yeah."

A bit of relief flooded Louis when he saw Harry climb down the stairs, glad that he didn't have to continue the conversation. When he noticed Louis he grinned brightly and walked over, plopping down next to him and handing him his cup again. With his free hand, he leaned over Louis (who was not fazed by the sudden close proximity of Harry's cheek at all) and low-fived Nick, adding a fistbump after.

Effortlessly.

"Good to see you, lad," Nick said with a wide grin, much more enthusiastic than he had been with Louis. Not that Louis minded: he understood it, really, he and Nick were essentially strangers, whereas Harry and Nick were obviously close friends.

"You too," Harry said, leaning back again and putting the arm he had stretched out to Nick over the backrest of the couch—which meant that his arm was around Louis, whose heart skipped a beat. "How's your sister?"

"She's good, just got hired at a law firm," Nick said, and then laughed. "'S'making better money than me."

Harry chuckled, and Louis realised the conversation was over. It had been light and completely irrelevant, yet had shown interest enough to keep their friendship intact. He wished he could have the same small talk abilities. Instead, his own brain somehow always insisted on making a conversation deep and intellectual, rather than discussing the weather or the latest football match.

He discreetly leaned a bit closer to Harry, whispering, "How old is Nick exactly?"

"Twenty-two," Harry whispered back, his eyes flashing with amusement.

Louis nodded slowly and sipped from his drink, which he then noticed was definitely a lot stronger than the one he had before. He realised he didn't exactly mind. "Tastes different."

"Put vodka instead of rum in it."

"Oh. I like this one better."

Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise, and he turned his body a bit more towards Louis, whose stomach definitely did not flip. "No kidding. You like the hard stuff, then?"

"I mean," Louis said, glancing at his cup with a small line between his eyebrows. "I think so?"

"Good to keep in mind," Harry said, and then grinned, leaning over to whisper in Louis' ear. "Anything else you like hard?"

It was a huge turn in the conversation because Louis was quite sure they had been talking about alcohol a second ago, and now Harry had made a very, very sexual innuendo that even Louis, a raging virgin, had picked up on.

At a loss for a better reply, Louis scoffed and slapped Harry's chest. Harry grabbed his hand and pulled him forward playfully, and who was Louis to try and stop him? He let himself get dragged into Harry's chest and stayed there, aware of Harry putting an arm around his waist. He wasn't quite sure why they were both suddenly so straightforward and unashamed with, what was clearly, flirting. It had to be the alcohol because Louis was quite sure he was already very tipsy, considering he was nearly halfway through his second glass despite only having been at the party for less than half an hour.

He remembered that Luke was somewhere nearby as well, and wasn't surprised to find him already staring at them, although he  _was_  surprised to find no jealousy or envy. He just looked a bit sad and disappointed.

Instead of trying to make Luke feel better by sitting up and keeping the flirting to a minimum, Louis just shuffled closer to Harry, who clearly didn't seem to mind, his hand starting to play with Louis' hair.

"Alright, done!" Niall suddenly said, triumphantly holding up a spliff.

"Finally. Only took you, like, an hour," Luke called out with a teasing grin, whatever mood he had about Louis and Harry vanished.

"Perfection takes time, my friend," Niall said, taking the lighter Liam was holding out for him and putting the spliff between his lips. "And I roll the best ones, so quit your whining."

A sense of apprehension settled within Louis, who became aware that he was definitely not up for smoking, especially not a drug. He wanted to fit in, badly, but even then he still had lines he didn't want to cross, and this was one of those lines. It wasn't like he had anything against smoking or weed, but he just didn't want to do it, mostly because of the all the continuous warnings that had been shoved down his throat all his life. Health problems and illnesses that came with smoking, the fact that weed was illegal and that once you were addicted to smoking, it was nearly impossible to stop...  
they were all contributing factors as to why Louis didn't want to try.

So when Harry took three drags and then held out the spliff to Louis, the latter shook his head and handed it over to Nick, who happily took a drag.

And nobody said a thing.

Not a single person inside the room asked Louis why he didn't smoke, not a single person ridiculed him and not a single person tried to persuade Louis to try.

It probably shouldn't have been as surprising as it actually was to Louis, who felt a bit guilty about his surprise. They hadn't yet pressured him into anything: so far, everything he had done (which, admittedly, wasn't much in comparison to the others) had been completely consensual. He was starting to realise that despite their rather intimidating attitudes and personalities, they weren't bad people. He knew that the people at his school dressed in designer clothes and pristine attitudes were a lot less understanding, had they been involved right now.

Louis watched how the others slowly got high, faintly wondering what it felt like, and never once moved in his seat, afraid that it might result in Harry letting go of him. He was still playing with Louis' hair, sometimes playfully tugging on it to get a reaction out of Louis, who would then try to bite down a grin (but failing miserably).

He listened to some very odd conversations, laughing at the stupidity that would come out, sometimes a little impressed when something considerably intelligent was uttered ("You know, technically, the brain named itself." "Can a blind person see when they dream?" "I'm so glad I don't live in Spain, I don't speak Spanish." "What does water taste like?").

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

Louis had no clue how he got home. He honestly didn't.

He just woke up the next morning, his head pounding and with a completely parched mouth, thoroughly confused for a full minute before he realised that he was in his room. Reaching for his phone to check the time, he found it out of battery and irritatedly connected it to the charger. When he glanced at the alarm clock he remembered owning and saw that it was past eleven, he panicked for a moment, somehow convinced that it was a Monday and that he had slept in three hours late.

Then it dawned on him that it was a Saturday, prompting him to let out a relieved sigh, which was accompanied by a wave of nausea. He scrambled out of his bed in a messy haste to get to the bathroom down the hall as quickly as possible. He dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, breathing in deeply through his nose. He sat there for a couple of minutes, but eventually, the nausea disappeared and left him feeling miserable, as if he'd been drinking all night—and lo and behold, he had.

"Brilliant," he sarcastically muttered to himself, getting to his feet again. When he looked into the mirror, he needed a couple of moments to collect himself for a multitude of reasons.

Why exactly was he wearing mascara? Who wrote the word 'caterpillar' on his arm? And whose fucking shirt was that?

The shirt one was probably the worst because it made him wonder where his own shirt had disappeared to. It was a bit worrying. Louis sighed deeply and made the decision to take a shower and to never drink again; his life of partying was going to be very short-lived. Maybe it was for the best: Louis couldn't remember anything about last night, so had no clue whether he actually had fun or not. That wasn't worth the hangover he currently had.

After he was done showering, he thought about going downstairs to get breakfast, but the simple thought of having to eat or drink anything made him so nauseous that this time, he did throw up. What was he thinking? He didn't even eat breakfast normally, and if he did it was on a weekend after waking up in the afternoon—it didn't exactly count as breakfast anymore then, but more like lunch.

Feeling absolutely miserable, Louis decided to hibernate in his bed the rest of the day, his throat now hurting as well. He attempted to remember anything about last night but mostly came up empty. What he was most curious about was how he had got home, and whether he had thoroughly embarrassed himself in any sort of way.

When he started dozing off again, he heard his phone buzz once. And again. And once more. And then three more times.

When it buzzed another two times, Louis groaned in irritation and reached for his phone, wondering what in the hell could possibly cause for his phone to blow up. He was a bit baffled when he saw he had been added to a group chat with a bunch of unknown numbers that were the reason for the continuous buzzes. The group was called 'Spice Girls', which he assumed to be an inside joke he had yet to understand.

It was obvious that the group are the people he had been hanging out with, especially when he saw Harry's contact had sent a couple of messages. Most of the messages were pictures and videos from last night. It only made sense that Louis started scrolling through them, unable to stop a smile from spreading over his face every time he spotted himself in one of the pictures.

There was one where he and Barbara were hugging each other tightly, their eyes closed and mouths spread in wide smiles. One has him sat cross-legged on the coffee table, his hands behind him and his lip between his teeth, looking to something out of sight of the camera. It was a good picture, considering that he was clearly drunk when it was taken.

A third picture had his heart stuttering. It pictured him in Harry's lap, with Harry's arms around his waist and his gaze on something outside the frame, clearly in conversation. Harry had his eyes closed and was smiling with his gaze towards the camera, his chin hooked over Louis' shoulder and clearly aware of the picture being taken. The picture that came after had Harry with his lips pressed against Louis' cheek and Louis with a bright smile, this time turned to the camera and also aware of the picture, still in the exact same position.

They were stupidly cute pictures, and Louis had a moment of weakness when he contemplated making one of them his phone background. He eventually chose not to, but the thought lingered as he kept scrolling through the images. He was in a lot of them, a couple with people he didn't even remember meeting. There are another few with Harry, like one where he was on Harry's back with his arms around Harry's neck, the both of them smiling. The picture that followed had them in the same position, only this time they were too busy staring into each other's eyes with slightly distracted smiles.

There was also one with Niall and Liam, the three of them in the middle of a laugh, their mouths wide open and faces filled with joy.

Simply put, there were a lot of pictures, and Louis saved every single one he was in. There was a slight bit of shame when he also saved a few pictures with Harry in it, but that was just because the latter looked stupidly good in every single picture that was taken of him. He was holding a water bottle between his lips in one, how could Louis  _not_  save that one?

He spent a good half hour scrolling through the pictures and studying each of them closely, simultaneously piecing together what exactly happened during the party. All in all, nothing too dramatic. The most intense thing he seemed to have been involved in was when he was sitting in Harry's lap. Speaking of that, right as he went to shut his phone off, a video came in and it was of him and Harry in that exact position. He couldn't tell if the video had been taken before or after the pictures.

It started with the camera whipping around a couple of times with the sound of loud music and voices, the flash making it difficult to determine what the person was filming. Then it focused on Harry and Louis, who turned their heads to the sudden flash pointed at them.

"Look at these two!" The voice slurred, and it sounded female to Louis; he immediately knew that it was Barbara. "Look how cute!"

"Cute as fuck!" Harry exclaimed, dramatically kissing Louis' cheek and causing Louis to burst into boisterous (and clearly drunken) laughter.

"We're the cutest," he said, and Louis cringed at himself, his voice loud and slurred and so fucking drunk.

Harry dramatically beamed at the camera for a few moments before directing it to Louis, who returned it. They share a gaze for a couple of seconds before they laughed and Louis wrapped an arm around Harry's neck.

"My best friend!" Harry exclaimed, kissing Louis' cheek again.

"My best friend!" Louis repeated, also kissing Harry's cheek. "The bestest!"

"The motherfucking bestest!"

The video cut off right after, leaving Louis staring at the end shot of the floor with blurry feet and feeling both appalled and excited about what he had just witnessed. The excitement came from being called someone's best friend for the first time, drunk or not, and he was appalled at the fact that he was capable of being so unabashedly affectionate with someone when they weren't even dating. There was a completely different person in this video; would someone have told him that one of the guys in the video was a shy, withdrawn person by nature, he wouldn't have believed them.

Still, though. He was so used to seeing these things on the internet, and now he was in them. Being drunk, affectionate, happy, at a party and being flirted with... that was part of his life now, and he really liked that idea. It made him feel cool, no matter if that sounded weird or childish. There was a part of him that hoped the video wouldn't leak, as he and Harry were—

**_harrystyles tagged you in a photo._ **

The notification was so sudden, it nearly caused Louis to shut his phone off in surprise. He'd never had that notification before, yet there it was. He quickly tapped on the bar at the top of his screen before it disappeared and was taken to Instagram, where he found, much to his shock, that it was the picture of him on Harry's lap, the one where Harry was kissing his cheek.

And, yeah, there it was, Louis—with his forty followers—was tagged in the picture, which already had fifteen likes and two comments. It was the caption, however, that nearly gave Louis heart palpitations:  _my ray of sunshine_.

My.  _My_. It made it sound it like they were dating to anyone who didn't know any better, and Louis wasn't sure how to feel about that. Don't get him wrong, he'd be ecstatic to date Harry, but the entire problem was that they  _weren't_. The post made it look like they were, which was pretty confusing on Louis' part. However, in a way, the caption made sense: Louis was cheesing hard, and 'ray of sunshine' suited his expression.

Louis refreshed the post and saw that it was now at thirty likes and nine comments. He couldn't help himself and started reading through them. Most of them are very generic, like 'cute', 'goals' and 'sick night'. There was one in particular that caught his attention: 'boyfriends?'. Harry had replied to it already, and it was a simple smiley face, winking at the person who commented.

It was a suggestive reply, because not only did Harry not fully answer the question, he had given it a halfway reply, and it was an answer that pretty much implied 'yes'. So, yeah, it made sense that Louis was over the moon right now, because this seemed like a clear indicator that Harry definitely had a similar interest in Louis like Louis had in Harry.

He commented a sun and a red heart, before deciding that he wanted to at least be a bit creative and adding a second comment: 'would that make you the moon?'. It was equally suggestive.

Right as he put his phone down, it started buzzing. When he picked it up again (with a small groan) he saw that Harry was calling, and all traces of annoyance vanished in an instant.

"Hi," Louis softly said into the phone, biting his lower lip to keep a smile down.

" _Hi_ ," Harry replied, his tone of voice equally soft. Louis wasn't sure if that was because they were both hangover or not. " _How are you feeling?_ "

The smile took over as Louis once again witnessed Harry's caring side. "Not great," he said. "Kind of want to curl up in a ball and die."

Harry chuckled, and Louis' heart stuttered. " _Welcome to your first hangover_ ," he said. " _Did you see the pictures?"_

"Yeah," Louis said, sitting up in his bed to try and sound more awake.

" _Do you mind I posted the one with us in it?_ " Harry asked, a sudden uncertainty in his voice. " _I just—I thought it was cute, so_."

"I don't mind. It is cute," Louis said, playing with the corner of his bedsheets as his smile only grew. "Never happened to me before, someone posting a picture with me."

There was an airy chuckle. " _So, it made it you happy, then?_ "

"Yeah."

" _I'm glad_."

God, Louis wished he could reach through the phone and hug Harry so tight he would nearly suffocate him. "Um, so, do you remember how I got home, by chance?" He asked instead, aware that he probably shouldn't utter those thoughts out loud.

" _Yeah. I walked you home_ ," Harry said, amusement in his voice. " _You were really drunk. And I dragged you with me to that party, least I could do was walk you back_."

"Thank you," Louis whispered, smiling sweetly and feeling a lot lighter than he did before the phone call.

" _Anytime_ ," Harry said. There was a small, comfortable silence, before Harry cleared his throat, suddenly sounding nervous. " _Hey, listen, can I... can I ask you something?_ "

"Anything."

" _Yeah, uh. I'm not great with this stuff, so bear with me,_ " Harry said, chuckling awkwardly, and Louis perched up a little because Harry sounded very nervous all of a sudden. " _It's just... how would you—do you want to, like, go on a date, with me, sometime?_ "

Louis' heart stopped for a moment and his body went still, his mind losing its train of thought (and any and all sense).

" _I just, I thought that there was something between us, you know?_ " Harry continued when Louis didn't reply. " _But if I read it wrong, just tell me, and we can pretend like this never—_ "

"Yes," Louis quickly interrupted. He cleared his throat. "I—I'd like that. To go on a date. With you."

He can hear exhale sharply. " _Really? You're not fucking with me?_ "

"No. Am not."

" _Okay, fuck, okay, yeah_ ," Harry said, chuckling airily with evident relief. " _That's—fuck. I'm really glad you said that_."

Louis beamed when the realisation started settling in. Harry had asked him out— _Harry had asked him out_. "I'm glad you asked," he admitted, casting his eyes up at the ceiling with the feeling like his heart had suddenly grown two sizes. "Took you a while, though."

" _Getting cheeky now?_ " Harry teased, a smirk nearly audible in his voice. " _Needed you to warm up to me first, you know. I knew you'd never say yes if you didn't feel comfortable around me_."

"I'm comfortable around you," Louis said. "More than with anybody else."

" _I know. I noticed,"_ Harry said. There's a short silence before Harry sighed softly. " _Hey_ ,  _I'll let you sleep off your hangover. I'll see you on Monday, yeah?_ "

"Yes, please," Louis said, immediately realising that it was a bit of a weird reply, but then he heard Harry chuckle and he knew that it was fine. "Bye, Harry. See you Monday."

" _Bye, love. Have a nice weekend_."

"You too."

Neither hung up immediately, so they listened to each other's breathing for a bit, Louis' smile growing steadily until it was hurting his cheeks. He was the one to eventually press the red button to end the call, putting the phone on his chest.

Falling asleep was going to be an impossible task now.  His mind was still stuck on... well, everything, really. On Harry calling him his best friend, on Harry kissing his cheek many, many times, Harry walking him home, Harry asking him out, Harry calling him love...

It all came down to Harry. Everything. Everything came down to him. Somehow, without Louis even noticing, Harry had managed to intertwine himself into Louis' life, wiggled into every tiny crevice and made his home there.

But Louis honestly couldn't get himself to mind.


	9. nine.

  

𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕖

 

"What about this one? Personally, I think you'd look hot in this."

Miraculously, Louis had remembered his plans with Barbara on a Sunday, and found himself with her in the shopping centre, hopping from shop to shop. His expectations for their casual afternoon had been completely shattered as soon as Barbara had asked him for his address so that her chauffeur could pick him up.

_She had a chauffeur._

When they had arrived at the shopping centre, Barbara had made it very clear that this was going to be an intense afternoon so 'no light shopping, Louis!'. With that, he found out that she was paying for everything. Well, nearly everything, because sometimes Louis would butt in and pay for himself, but she paid for nearly everything they had bought so far. The clothes were mostly for Louis, ranging from skinny jeans (some ripped) to sweatshirts to t-shirts to even shoes 'because the ones you have now are unacceptable, babe, we need to get you some Vans'.

Of course, they had also bought a lot for Barbara, and Louis had a lot of fun picking out clothes for her (even makeup, that had been a proper thrill. Not that he would ever admit to that out loud). He found female clothing a lot cuter than male, something he had sheepishly admitted to Barbara, who then proceeded to help him find clothes in the women's section that didn't look too girly. He wasn't about to walk around in a shirt with the words 'Independent Woman', thank you very much. Although Barbara did talk him into getting a shirt with the words 'You Go Girl' on it, he doubted he'd ever wear it in public: he just didn't have the confidence for it.

After two-and-a-half hours of some very intense shopping they sat down in a small restaurant, and after whispering to Barbara about his eating issues, she and Louis had sat down all the way in the back, away from the eyes from any passer-by's. After ordering (chicken panini for Louis, turkey club for Barbara) they fell into a comfortable conversation, mostly because Barbara was an easy talker and liked to talk and because Louis was a good listener. He knew when to nod, shake his head, make a sound, add something, or ask a question.

Halfway through their meal, they had somehow got to the topic of Barbara's new birth control. Not like Louis was complaining: he had learned more about sex and the female biology from Barbara the last two hours than he had in his entire life. He was intrigued, and Barbara seemed happy to be able to talk about it.

"...and apparently, it has a ninety-eight per cent success rate, so," Barbara said, popping a chip in her mouth. "I mean, what's two per cent, right? I take it out at the end of the month and then put a new one in. Easy stuff."

"So, it's a ring? That's it?"

"Yeah. I know, weird, right? Apparently, it releases, like, hormones or something, and those make the cervical mucus thicker so that the sperm can't reach the egg," Barbara said, snorting and shaking her head. "Maybe we shouldn't talk about this while eating."

Louis grinned as he knew for a fact that there was no way she was going to stop talking about this; all the shame was out the window now. "Would you still get your period?"

"If I do the three weeks, one week cycle, then yeah," Barbara said, taking a sip from the white wine she had managed to get using a fake ID Niall had got her last year. It had made Louis feel very impressed, so she had offered him to ask Niall if he could get Louis one too. Louis had politely declined. "You know, have it in for three weeks, take it out for one? But if I just immediately put it in again, I won't have it for another three weeks."

"So, which one?" Louis asked, taking a bite from his panini.

"Think I'm going to do three-one," Barbara said and grinned mischievously. "Niall takes care of me when I have my period. Chocolate, hot water bottles, cuddles... I'm going to keep taking advantage of that."

Louis chuckled. Something inside of him told him he'd probably do the same, had he had the unfortunate luck of monthly menstruation and the fortunate luck of a loving and caring boyfriend like Niall (how would Harry handle that type of stuff?).

"So, what about you? Anything exciting?" Barbara asked, plucking a small tomato from Louis' plate and putting it in her mouth. "Any tea to spill?"

And Louis was secretly proud when he realised that yeah, he actually did have something exciting to talk about. "Well, I got asked on a date yesterday," he said, and Barbara beamed, squealing in excitement.

"Oh, my God! And you're only telling me now? Who asked you?"

"Harry," Louis said, biting his lip as he awaited Barbara's response. He noticed her smile falter just a bit as she leaned back in her seat, her eyes turning thoughtful.

"Huh," she said. "That's... did you say yes? Like, are you sure?"

"I said yes," Louis said, narrowing his eyes just the slightest in curiosity at the sudden apprehension from his friend. "Why?"

"No, nothing, nothing, just... he's not really the type of guy I would date," Barbara said, giving Louis a tight-lipped smile. He wondered what she meant: it couldn't be because of the way he looked, considering that Niall had the same style of clothes and an equal amount of tattoos.

"Why not?"

Barbara reached for her wine glass and took a sip, clearly thinking about her next words. "He's just. I don't know. Something's just not quite right with him to me, I guess."

Louis didn't say anything, waiting for her to continue.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I love him, I think he's a great lad, but I don't know. There's just always been something off about him, I guess," she said. "Like, he's always involved in all this shady stuff with even shadier people. And he's super secretive. Like, really secretive."

"Like how?"

Barbara bit her lip, clearly not too comfortable with dishing on one of her closest friends.

"Please, Barbs," Louis said, reaching for her hand with a small smile. "If I'm going on a date with him, I'd at least like to know what I'm getting into."

After a moment, Barbara sighed and nodded. "You're right. This technically isn't gossiping, right?" She weakly joked, and Louis beamed at her, encouraging her to continue. "Okay, so, you know how I said he's really secretive?"

Louis nodded, trying not to appear too eager. He felt like a stay-at-home mum, hungry for things to gossip about with the other mothers in the neighbourhood.

"Well, he never talks about what exactly he does, or his past or anything like that," Barbara said, playing with a strand of her hair. "Like, Luke had no clue—still doesn't—about what he got up to with all that shady business I mentioned, which is probably the reason why they kept breaking up. I mean, not even Niall knows about any of it, and he and Harry are like brothers; they've lived together for years, even before they got the flat."

She puffed out a breath. "It makes Niall sad, sometimes, that Harry doesn't tell him anything. It's selfish on Harry's side. I guess he just wants to protect us or something, I don't know. Still. Selfish, you know?"

Louis nodded. "What about the shady business? What's that all about?"

"Well, as I said, he never talks about it, but he's got arrested a couple of times," Barbara said, giving Louis a meaningful look. "Drug possession. Public fighting."

A memory from when Harry had hidden from the cops in Louis' room rushes back to Louis: it was when Harry had mentioned having got in a fight with someone. Then there was the time he had hidden weed in Louis' locker and had assured Louis he didn't deal.

"I mean, he deals sometimes," Barbara continued. So Harry had lied: he _did_ deal. "Like, he denies it, but we all know that he does. He's not that great of a liar if you know him well, so we've always seen through whatever excuses he comes up with whenever he leaves in the middle of the night. He doesn't do it often, though, maybe three or four times a month?"

She chuckled humourlessly and shook her head. "God, he's been arrested so many times I've lost count," she said. "Mostly for fights and drunken behaviour. I mean, one time we found him in front of the old flat, completely off his arse and crying and yelling because of Zayn—"

She abruptly cut herself off, her eyes widening, and Louis knew she had said something that hadn't been allowed to be said.

Who was Zayn? And what old flat?

"Um, anyway, he's just... odd," she awkwardly continued, trying to brush over her obvious slip-up. "I mean, he's so far from the relationship type. I'm surprised he even asked you on a date instead of just snogging you and getting what he wants as quickly as he can."

Louis wasn't about to let her move on so easily. "Who's Zayn?" he asked, noticing how Barbara's eyes turned sad and distant. She shook her head.

"Nobody," she said, which Louis knew to be a lie. "Please forget I ever mentioned him, okay?"

"But—"

"I'm serious, Louis," Barbara pleaded, her face filled with fear. "Drop it. Forget about it, please? Believe me, it's best if you do."

There was no way Louis was going to forget about whoever Zayn was, but for the sake of Barbara's emotional state, he nodded and smiled reassuringly. "Can I ask for your advice, then?" he asked, and Barbara nodded, clearly relieved that Louis wasn't pressuring her into talking about Zayn, whoever that was. "Do you think I should go on that date with Harry?"

"If I was in your shoes, I would've said no—as I said, something's always felt off about him," Barbara said. She held up a finger, pointing it at Louis. "But, if you have a crush on him and you genuinely want to date him, I'd say, do it. One date can't hurt. If, after that, you still feel the same about him, I'll support your decision in dating him."

"Thanks, Barbs," Louis said, happy to be able to talk to someone about his feelings. It made him realise how lonely he actually was, that he never had anybody before to talk to about his doubts and struggles, his accomplishments and any exciting things happening in his life. It felt good to have friends. "So, if by the end of the date, I can look past the arrests, the secrecy, his shady life, all the fights and the unromantic personality, you'd support the maybe-relationship?"

Barbara smiled and nodded. "Of course. I mean, you're my best friend, I'm required to support all of your decisions," she said, and Louis beamed.

That was the second time in the last two days someone had called him their best friend. He was over the moon.

"Okay, come on!" Barbara suddenly said, clapping her hands together and clearly oblivious at Louis' excitement. "Let me pay, and then we'll just stroll around for a bit, yeah? Give the food a chance to settle."

Louis nodded, unable to keep his smile down.

He felt happy.

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

On a Monday afternoon, as Louis is walking home from school, Harry called out his name from down the street. Louis' heartbeat picked up as he waited for Harry to catch up, suddenly a bit nervous to be around Harry because of the date thing. Agreeing on a date meant that you were interested in each other, more than friends, and Louis had never had that in a mutual way before, so yeah, he was a bit nervous.

"Hey. You going home?" Harry asked, a bit out of breath from his short jog over to Louis, who nodded, his gaze falling over what Harry was wearing. It was a shirt that had the text 'NO MORE FAKE FRIENDS' on the front, with two clasped hands in the middle, a dagger through the two hands. It looked cool. "Mind if I join?"

"Obviously not," Louis said, a bit sassily. Harry grinned and nudged his finger against Louis' cheek, causing Louis to blush and look away.

"Very cheeky, love," Harry said. Louis' stomach did a backflip at the nickname: his crush was really getting out of hand. "I'm going to the baseball field, hang out with the others. You want to come with?"

Louis shook his head. "Got to finish some stuff for school."

"Sure," Harry said, giving Louis' arm a small nudge. "Nerd."

Louis nudged him right back. "Whatever."

The two of them continued walking, a silence over them that Louis experienced to be a bit uncomfortable: it was probably because he was nervous. Silences with Harry were usually never uncomfortable. He took a careful glance at Harry, wondering why someone so good looking and so charming would ever choose to go on a date with someone like Louis, who was far from charming and just very awkward overall.

"Hey, so, I've been thinking," Harry suddenly said, looking at Louis who quickly glanced away, embarrassed about getting caught staring. Harry didn't make a comment about it. "When would you, like, want to go on this date? I was thinking maybe Friday if that works for you?"

Louis smiled and nodded, still looking away. "That works."

"Cool," Harry said. He nudged Louis' shoulder. "I'll pick you up at, like, six?"

It was a bit of an odd time, considering dates were usually somewhere around eight pm (if the movies Louis had seen were anything to go by, but then again, what did he know?). "Yeah, sure," he still said, willing to do anything at this point. "What are we going to do?"

"I thought about that already," Harry said with a thoughtful look. "Food isn't an option, 'cause you can't eat in front of other people, yeah? Or, like, you're uncomfortable, which I get, so, that's not happening. And nothing else that's too public either, 'cause again, people, so I had to figure something out, but I found something and I reckon you'll like it."

Louis didn't reply: he was speechless. Never had anybody remembered these things about him, and if they had, they'd never been this considerate about it. Harry had remembered everything Louis had told him and had taken it into his plans for their upcoming date on Friday.

Overcome with a strong sense of adoration and appreciation for the boy in front of him, Louis swung his arms around Harry's neck and hugged him tightly. Harry stumbled back in surprise but immediately wrapped his arms around Louis' body, as if he was protecting him in case he did fall.

"Lou?" He asked, unsure of what Louis was trying to convey with the sudden hug.

Louis didn't let go as he murmured, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Remembering."

Harry tightened his hold a bit, his head turning a little as if he was trying to bury his face in Louis' neck. He didn't actually, but still stayed close. "No need to thank me," he mumbled, and Louis pulled back so that he could look into Harry's eyes.

"There is, though," he said quietly, Harry's arms still around his waist and his own still around Harry's neck. "Not just for that. Also for being so patient with me. People usually leave after a couple of days because I'm so anti-social."

"You're not anti-social," Harry immediately said, his eyes flickering to Louis' lips and causing Louis' cheeks to tint pink. "You're shy. There's a difference."

Louis leaned in a bit, finding a strong desire to kiss Harry growing inside of him, but instead of giving in, he stepped back and let go of Harry, the latter's hands slipping off his waist and leaving behind a strong sense of apprehension. Still, just because Louis wanted to kiss Harry didn't mean he was actually going to: he needed to go on that date first, and if he'd still want to kiss Harry after that, he'd give in.

"Still, thank you," he said, biting his lip and putting his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

Harry smiled.

When Louis opened his front door, he was immediately met with his father's voice, yelling into his phone about whatever he was angry about. At first, Louis didn't pay mind to it and went to go upstairs, but then his father said something particularly interesting.

"I already paid you! I can't keep making these extra payments!"

As expected, Louis sneaked to the door to listen in on the phone call. He had a faint idea on what exactly it was about, but he was sincerely hoping that for once, he was wrong.

"Yes, I know she's mine—yes!" His father exclaimed, and Louis knew he was right: he was talking to her, about their secret kid. "I paid already! If you want money so much you get a fucking job!"

There was a small silence.

"That's not my fault. You chose to keep her hidden until after you gave birth!"

Oh. His father hadn't even known about the pregnancy until after the baby was born. Still, it wasn't enough for Louis to forgive his father: he still cheated, still let it go on for months, and still kept the child a secret. Even now.

"I—I refuse to discuss over the phone. No, I don't—I've got a son, too!" His father said, and for a moment, Louis thought he was being considerate. "He'll be home any moment. I can't have him hear this."

Of course, he wasn't fucking considerate, and if he was, it was only for himself and nobody else. A wave of anger washed over Louis, who, without thinking, barged into the room, promptly saying, "Can't hear what, huh?"

His father spun around in surprise. After a second, he hung up the phone without bidding _her_ goodbye, his face twisting up into an angry expression. "Were you listening in on me?"

"Why?" Louis challengingly said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Got something to hide?"

"Don't you talk back to me," his father said, taking a couple of steps forward. Louis didn't step back, despite his gut telling him to do that; since when had he become afraid of his father?

"What are you hiding, then?" Louis asked, refusing to show his dad even the slightest bit of his uneasiness. "Does mum know about it? Bet she doesn't, right?"

"Watch your mouth, Louis," his dad said, his voice low.

"Was it her? You know, the woman you fucked and used to break mum's heart?"

Louis should've stepped back. If he had, maybe his father had missed. It was too late now, however, because his father's hand connected with his upper arm, and then the side of his ribs, two hard punches that were anything but random.

The one to his ribs was hard enough for Louis' breath to be knocked out of his lungs, and he stepped back at the sudden impact, his back hitting the wall behind him.

"I don't want to hear another word from you!" His father yelled, getting into Louis' space and causing Louis to shrink in on himself as much as he could against the wall, holding up his arms to protect his face and part of his chest. He was terrified. "If you tell your mother about any of this I'll make sure you regret the day you were born, you got that?"

Louis was too rigid to be able to reply, earning himself a slap on the side of his head, just behind his temples and making him flinch, his eyes squeezing shut.

"Answer me!"

He nodded weakly. "Yes," he whispered, his voice cracking.

Carefully opening his eyes, Louis saw his father step back with a sneer. "Go upstairs. I can't stand to see you right now."

Louis, not wanting to stick around to see what would happen if he didn't listen, immediately left the room, picking up his backpack in the hallway and quickly running up the stairs to go to his room. When he closed his bedroom door, he slid down against the wood, hiding his face in his hands and started taking deep breaths, refusing to let the tears pricking behind his eyelids to spill.

"Don't cry, don't cry," he whispered to himself. "Not because of him. He's not worth it. Don't fucking cry."

He sat there for a good ten minutes. When he finally did manage to calm down, he shakily stood up and approached his desk. There, he sat down and opened his notebook, suddenly set on drawing what he was holding in emotionally.

And he took a while on it. It was only when he got called down for dinner by his mother that he stopped, leaning back in his desk chair and taking a good look at what he had drawn. It was a naked, bony and genderless figure, leaning against a wall and hunched forward, their face hidden behind their skeletal hands. There was an ankle weight attached to the figure's ankle. The drawing was depressing as hell.

It, once again, consisted of simple lines and nothing else. There was no shading, something that Louis ought unnecessary for his style of drawing. If anything, it would take away from the simplicity.

He'd like to have a little bit of simplicity in his life: if that could only be in his drawings, so be it.

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

The next day, on a Tuesday, Harry came over for tutoring again. Despite their efforts, they didn't have the concentration to focus on French and Maths, eventually ending up with Harry on the floor and flipping through Louis' old journals. Louis was on his bed, laying on his back with his gaze on the ceiling. There was music playing in the background (Ed Sheeran; Louis might have found a favourite artist), filling the occasional silences between Harry and Louis.

"You used to draw cartoons?"

"When I was, like, thirteen, yeah. I sucked, I was just copying other artists."

"Wouldn't say you sucked. This Mickey Mouse is pretty fit."

Louis laughed, feeling lighter than he had since his father had hit him. There was a light bruise on his ribs and his upper arm was a bit sore. He was just hoping it would be gone by the time he had PE, which was on a Thursday.

"You get on off on cartoons, then?" He joked, and it was now Harry's turn to laugh.

"Oh, yeah, definitely, I mean, look at this," he said, holding up the journal to Louis who bent his head back, seeing an upside down Daffy Duck. "Don't tell me you wouldn't raw this."

Louis crinkled his nose and laughed again. "That's so gross," he said, laying his head down again.

"Dealbreaker for Friday type gross?" Harry asked, and Louis shook his head, which was difficult to do lying down.

"No."

There was silence. Ed Sheeran was singing something about it being too cold for angels to fly. Listening to the lyrics, Louis started feeling a bit sad. It was about a girl addicted to A-Class drugs, and he wondered what had the singer in such a sad and depressing mood to write something like that.

"What a sad song," he quietly said, tugging on the sleeves from his sweater.

"I think it's poetic, in a very morbid way," Harry said, putting the journal down and grabbing the next. "But I guess sad works too, yeah."

Louis tipped his head back to take a quick peek at Harry, laying his head back down in case Harry might catch him in the act. "Give me something to be happy about," he said. "Like a fact, or something."

There was a small silence in which Harry thought about Louis' words. He suddenly snorted.

"What?" Louis asked.

"There's too much to be happy about," Harry said, suddenly standing up and abandoning the journals, climbing onto Louis' bed and laying down beside him, on his stomach so that he could look at Louis' face. Louis had to pretend like his heart hadn't just lurched into his throat.

"Like what?"

Harry smiled, turning one of the many rings he was wearing. "Music. Cosy sweaters. Dogs, sunsets," he said, pausing for a moment. "And wanking. Sex."

Louis burst into laughter at the sudden shift, turning onto his side and aware that his forehead touched Harry's arm, but didn't move away. Harry only grinned at him. "I didn't see that coming."

"Coming! Another reason to be happy; orgasms," Harry said, and Louis chuckled, lightly slapping Harry's shoulder.

"You were so poetic and then you just had to ruin it," Louis said, staying on his side but moving his head away from Harry's arm to look Harry in his eyes.

Harry smiled to himself as if he was remembering something. "Books. Laughing, hugs, inside jokes. Flowers," he said, and giving Louis a meaningful look as he said, "Cat puns."

Louis grinned. "Cat puns are hiss-terical."

"Radi-claw."

"Purr-fect."

With a snort, Harry hung his head, shaking it a little. "See? Enough reasons to be happy."

Ed Sheeran was singing about a photograph. Louis realised he'd really like to put this moment in a photograph so that he could look at it and relive it whenever he wanted to. Instead of doing that, he slung his leg over the back of Harry's and focused his gaze on one of Harry's hands so that he didn't have to meet his eyes.

His heartbeat sped up when Harry shuffled a little closer.

"Remember when I told you about my dad?" Louis asked, finding himself wanting to talk to Harry about what happened yesterday; maybe not everything, but definitely the phone call.

"The secret kid thing?" Harry said. Despite it being a fairly difficult thing to forget about, Louis was still happy that Harry remembered.

"Yeah."

"Something happen?"

Louis glanced at Harry's face, their eyes meeting and gazes locking. "Walked in on him on the phone talking to, you know, _her_."

"The skank?" Harry promptly said, and Louis' lips twitched upwards as he nodded. "He's still talking to her?"

"Yeah. And I heard him say that mum and I couldn't know about any of it, the payments and the kid and that they're still in contact."

Harry scoffed and shook his head. "Prick," he said, and Louis wholeheartedly agreed. Harry's eyes flicker over Louis' face. "You deserve, like, a hundred times better."

When Louis averted his gaze, a strand of hair fell into his face. He didn't bother brushing it away. "Don't know about that."

"I do," Harry said, lifting one hand and brushing the strand away, urging Louis to look at him again. "You deserve the best."

Louis swallowed thickly under Harry's intense gaze, knowing that if he didn't say something right now, they might do something that Louis didn't want to do until after the date. "Friday better be phenomenal, then. Can't be less than the best."

"Are you kidding? It's going to be brilliant," Harry said with a self-satisfied smirk. "I'm going to blow you away with what I got planned."

"You're going to blow me, huh?" Louis playfully said, pointing out Harry's choice of words. Harry gave him a theatrical wink, making him chuckle. "What have you got planned, anyway?"

Harry shook his head, his smirk growing. "Not going to tell you. That'll take away the element of surprise."

"Can you at least tell me what to wear?"

"Something casual. Like what you wear to school."

Louis bit his lip and pretended not to see Harry's eyes shoot to his mouth to watch the movement. "Please don't tell me we're going to do something that's, like, physically intense. Like, rock climbing or something."

Harry threw his head back as he barked out a laugh. "I can promise you we won't go rock climbing," he said. "You're going to have to walk, though."

Louis crinkled his nose in dismay. "Hiking?"

Harry's eyes flickered with fondness as he shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. "No hiking."

"Then I guess it can't be that bad."

"It's going to be the best."

Louis smiled. He shuffled a little bit closer, enough for his thigh to be completely over the back of Harry's legs, instead of just his calf.

"Can't wait."

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

The days leading up to Friday went by slowly. Louis studied, drew and slept his way through the time, sometimes on the phone with Harry or Barbara, the latter helping him prepare for the date he was more than a little anxious for. He wasn't afraid for any awkwardness, but more for messing up, saying the wrong thing or not being interesting enough for Harry. He didn't want to mess up what was probably his only chance at wooing Harry.

" _The white button-up we bought_."

"White on black?"

" _Yeah, it's classy_."

Louis sighed. "I don't need classy, I need casual."

He was on FaceTime with Barbara, who was helping him pick out an outfit for his date, which was only an hour away. She had a black face-mask on, and Louis had wondered if maybe he should start doing the same thing if it gave him the same perfect skin Barbara had. He was pretty done with pimples and redness.

" _You want casual? Sweatpants and a coffee-stained shirt, that's casual_ ," Barbara pointed out, taking a sip from her mug. " _Nobody in the history of ever has gone on a date with casual clothes_."

"Coffee dates," Louis said, despite never having experienced one.

" _Even then. You'd still put effort into your outfit. Now, put on the white button-up with the jeans you're wearing and suck it up_."

It had been a pretty easy decision for Louis to wear the new black skinny jeans he and Barbara had bought last Sunday; as Barbara had put it, it 'hugged his legs in all the right places'. Louis couldn't argue with that.

"I just don't want to look like I'm trying too hard," Louis said as he took off his shirt and carelessly tossed it on the floor. The bruises had completely disappeared already, something he was grateful for. "I don't want to come over as desperate."

" _Harry's the one who's desperate_ ," Barbara said, pressing her fingers on her face to check where the facemask hadn't dried yet. " _I mean, he's been talking about this non-stop all week. Like, all I could think was, get laid already before you spontaneously combust_."

Louis chuckled, albeit a bit awkwardly. He liked Harry and might kiss him tonight, but there was no way he was going to lose his first kiss and his virginity on the same night. He was not about to put out on the same night he'd lose his first kiss, thank you very much. Well, _if_ he'd lose his first kiss; it was all highly hypothetical.

Once he had put on the white button-up, he held out his arms to his phone screen. Barbara gave him a wide smile and a two thumbs up. " _Looking like a million bucks, pet_ ," she said, and then crinkled her nose. " _Or, quid, I guess_."

Louis smiled and walked over to his closet again. "Jacket?"

" _Black jean jacket_ ," Barbara decidedly said. " _Black on white on black. You're going to look like a model, Louis, Harry won't know what hit him_."

After putting on the jacket (" _And don't forget the vans, Louis!_ ") Louis had talked to Barbara for a little longer before it hit fifteen to six and then hung up. He waited by sitting on the edge of his bed, messing with his hair despite having styled it for twenty minutes prior.

When it hit six pm, Louis' heart skipped a beat. Harry would arrive any second now, which was a completely nerve-wracking thought for Louis, who, despite that, couldn't deny the excitement for the upcoming night.

When fifteen minutes passed without a single sign of Harry, Louis had the desire to text him but refrained from doing so. He didn't want to come over as clingy, and what were fifteen minutes anyway?

He sent a text at half past six. His parents had started on dinner, and Louis had told them he wasn't joining them because he had plans already, so he couldn't go downstairs to eat something. Only when it hit seven pm did Louis start to wonder if Harry had forgotten or if something had happened. Still, in that case, couldn't Harry have texted him to let him know that something had got in the way?

Louis texted and called Harry as he waited for him, watching the minutes tick by on his phone. He waited, and waited, and waited, watching how the clock hit eight pm, and then nine, and ten...

But Harry never came.


	10. ten.

 

𝕥𝕖𝕟

 

Louis laid on his bed, staring up at his ceiling and listening to the fight happening downstairs as he cried. It was the last way he had expected to spend his Friday night.

The fact that it was past ten and that Harry hadn't shown a single sign of life was enough for Louis to burst into tears over and over again. He had stood Louis up, again. It just didn't make sense. He had seemed so excited for Louis, he had planned out every little detail and had—according to Barbara—been unable to stop talking about it.

So why had he stood Louis up? Had he got cold feet? Or had he just decided that Louis wasn't worth wasting a Friday night on?

Louis rolled on his stomach and pressed his face into his pillow, sobbing into the fabric and muffling his sounds. He hated Harry, he hated love and hated himself for thinking that anybody would ever go on a date with him. It had probably just been some stupid joke to Harry, who undoubtedly was at home right now, laughing to the others about how they had managed to fool Louis into thinking someone would actually like him.

Maybe Barbara was in on it.

God, what was he saying? Of course she wasn't. She was a sweet person, and had bought him all those clothes and had helped him get ready and had given him advice... Louis should've got a crush on her, not on some prick like Harry. He'd rather fancy someone who was already taken than someone who kept standing him up and taking him for granted. Then at least he would already be aware that his feelings would never be reciprocated, instead of having them stomped on.

Well, at least he had experienced heartbreak for the first time. Now that he had that out of the way, he could safely rebuild the walls around his heart and never fall for anyone again. Thank you, Harry.

There was a part of Louis, the part that was making him feel the hate he was experiencing right now, that wanted to make Harry feel the same. To take his revenge on him, show him that Louis wasn't going to allow him to use him like this.

He should sleep with Luke, and then rub it into Harry's face. Make out with Luke while Harry was in the same room. Date Luke and have Harry walk in on them constantly.

Who was he kidding? Like he had the guts or the seduction talents for that. He'd probably chicken out at the last second or make Luke uncomfortable, two of the many scenarios Louis never wanted to experience.

Besides, Luke clearly still had an interest in Harry. In all honesty, he could have him, Louis was done with Harry. He had stood Louis up twice now, had used him for his own benefit about four times, and had now broken Louis' heart too; yeah, Louis was done. Luke could take his ex back.

Who knows, maybe Louis had dodged a bullet. From what Barbara had told him, it was obvious that Harry wasn't the world's best boyfriend: he had never shared anything with Luke, hid things from him and broke up with him multiple times. Louis didn't want an on-again, off-again relationship: he wanted stability, something he could count on in his life. It was something he hadn't had in a really long time, and for a short while, he had thought that Harry could be that stability.

Clearly, he had been mistaken.

He wasn't going to make the same mistake again. He was done. Harry could get fucked for all Louis cared. He was probably going to cuss him out come Monday, give him a piece of his mind and really make him see what a complete, utter, fucking dick he was.

But for now, he cried and didn't stop till it was deep into the night.

Harry never returned his calls or replied to his texts.

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

The next day, Louis was awoken by his phone. It was late when he got the text, already two pm. For a short, both hopeful and annoyed moment, he thought it was Harry. Instead, it was a text from Barbara checking in on him.

 **_Hi!!! How was the date?_ **  
**_Did you kiss him?_ **  
**_Call me, I want all the de_ ** **_tails_ ** **_!! xxx_ **

Louis promptly teared up. He still couldn't believe Harry had stood him up. Secretly, a part of him had prayed it had just been a stupid dream. Clearly, it hadn't been.

 **No details**  
**He never showed up**  
**Guess I wasn't worth his time**

After a second or so, the speech bubble popped up, only to disappear, pop up, and disappear again. Then the screen changed to show that Barbara was calling him, the phone buzzing in his hand. Louis considered not picking up for a short moment, not too keen on the thought of having to talk to anyone right now, but he knew he couldn't do that. It would be a bit weird and, frankly, really rude for him to reply to the texts Barbara sent him but to not pick up her call.

" _Please tell me you were joking just now_."

"I wish."

" _Oh, my gosh, Louis, I'm so sorry. I can't believe he—what did he say? Did you talk to him yet?_ " Barbara asked, her voice filled with sympathy and concern.

"No, I haven't," Louis said, swallowing thickly to try and keep the tears at bay. "I never want to talk to him again."

There's some ruffling on the other side. " _What are you doing right now?_ " Barbara asked.

"Wallowing in bed," Louis said, something he wished was far from the truth. "Rethinking every decision that led me to say yes to that stupid date."

" _I'm so sorry, Louis_."

"It's whatever. I'll be over it by the time it's Monday, so."

There's a small silence, and Louis sighed. "Is it okay if I hang up? I don't really want to talk right now," he said, realising that it was actually the exact opposite as soon as he said those words. "Not that I don't want to talk to you, but. Yeah."

" _That's okay, pet. I get it_ ," Barbara said, and despite his horrible mood, Louis still managed to smile a little. " _Bye, Louis_."

"Bye," Louis sighed, and hung up.

He stared at his phone for a couple of moments. A voice in the back of his head told him to call Harry, but instead of doing that, he quickly shut his phone off and got out of bed. When he looked into the mirror, he pitied the reflection he saw: messy, tangled hair, red-rimmed eyes and clothes that could belong to somebody homeless. Frankly, he looked pathetic.

"A smile is a curve that sets everything straight," he mumbled and put on a fake smile. He quickly wiped it off his face when he cringed at the sight: it was the fakest smile he had ever given.

When he got downstairs, he found his mother sitting at the breakfast table, and she looked up with a smile upon hearing him walk into the room. "Good morning, sweetheart," she said brightly. Nevermind that it was already deep into the afternoon.

"Afternoon," Louis mumbled as he walked into the kitchen, grabbing some bread to put into the toaster. For once in his life, he was actually hungry right after waking up. This was most likely because he hadn't eaten dinner last night; he'd sort of been counting on Harry to feed him. That had obviously been a mistake.

"Did you have fun last night?" His mother asked.

Louis wanted to scream. If this wasn't the most definitive proof that his parents were completely oblivious to everything he did, he wasn't sure what else there was. They hadn't even noticed that he had never even left his room last night. As it seemed, it hadn't just been Harry who had forgotten about him last night.

He didn't reply and took out the toast that was now ready, throwing it on a plate and not bothering to put any toppings on it. After grabbing a cup of tea, he sat down at the dinner table and avoided his mother's gaze. She allowed him a couple of seconds of silence before she repeated her question.

"Louis? Did you have fun last night?"

Louis sighed, taking a sip from his mug and burning his tongue on the hot tea. "About as much fun as you and dad had," he said, biting into his toast. He wondered if his parents would notice if he became a heroin addict. Or a meth addict. Whatever was the cheapest, he supposed.

"Excuse me?" His mother asked with a small smile. "I can't tell if you're joking or not, sweetheart."

"Can't tell if you're joking either," Louis said. His mother opened her mouth to talk, but he continued talking before she could say anything. "I didn't even leave the house last night. Not that you'd know that since you're so busy fighting all the time."

His mother furrowed her eyebrows together. "Did your friends cancel?" She asked, ignoring the last part, which only served to anger Louis even more.

"Got stood up by my date, actually," he said, ignoring the surprised look his mother gave him. "Again, not like you'd know that. You seem to forget I exist."

"Louis," his mother said, her eyes filling with sadness, but before she can continue, the doorbell rang. Louis immediately got up from his seat, happy to have a reason to walk away from the conversation, and made his way over to the front door. Maybe somebody had delivered some meth so that he could start on his addiction early.

The last people he expected to see were Barbara and Niall.

"Hi, Louis," Barbara said with a careful smile. She glanced at Niall, who cleared his throat. "We thought we'd give you some company."

When Louis didn't reply, far too speechless, she held up a white plastic bag with the Tesco logo. "We brought food."

Louis felt tears start to well up in his eyes, so he quickly looked down and stepped aside. He couldn't believe they cared enough to actually come over unannounced and try to take his mind off what happened. "Yeah, yeah, come in," he said, not expecting to suddenly have Barbara in his arms, hugging him tightly.

The bag hit his shoulder, but he couldn't get himself to care and hugged Barbara tightly, a couple of tears escaping. "Thank you."

"Of course," Barbara softly said, pulling back with a gentle smile. "That's what friends are for."

"You home alone?" Niall asked, shutting the door behind him and offering Louis a sympathetic smile.

Louis shook his head. "No, mum's in the living room," he said, and immediately, Niall and Barbara went to the living room.

Louis quickly followed, wondering what exactly their plan was, and watched in befuddlement as Barbara and Niall shook his mother's hands and introduced themselves. He saw his mother's eyes bulge at the sight of Niall, her gaze drawn to his piercings and the infinite amount of tattoos.

"Nice to meet you," she said, voice an octave higher and eyes wide, her grip as she shook Niall's hand weak from the surprise.

"You too, miss," Barbara politely said. "We're friends of Louis. You wouldn't mind if we hung out in his room for a bit, would you?"

"Of course," Louis' mother weakly said, clearly overwhelmed by the fact that Louis had friends (and that they were actually real). "Go ahead."

Afraid of any further questioning, Louis quickly left the room, grabbing Barbara's wrist and pulling her along. Niall followed, giving Louis' mum a quick wave.

"Cute room," Barbara said, looking around Louis' bedroom as the latter closed the door behind him. She glanced at the crumpled white shirt on the floor—the one he wore last night for the date that never happened.

"Thanks," Louis said, feeling the air in the room slowly turn awkward when Niall saw what Barbara saw, and probably realised that it had been Louis' outfit for last night.

Barbara cleared her throat and walked over to Louis' bed, emptying the contents of the plastic bag she was holding by flipping it upside down. As he walked closer, Louis saw multiple beer cans, a bag of Doritos, a tub of Celebrations chocolates, a pack of Camel cigarettes (Niall grabbed the pack as soon as he spotted it) and multiple Haribo bags.

"We're going to eat our feelings," Barbara said, sending Louis a smile.

A couple of minutes later, the three of them were spread out on the bed, the junk food scattered between them. They each had a can of beer, a drink Louis knew would get him killed if his parents would see him consume it. Yet here he was, drinking it in his room with the chance of his mother walking in at any moment. As if she would, though. She hadn't done that in the last two years; why restart now?

"Just saying, statistically, the average person spends six months of their life waiting at a red light," Niall said. "I'm serious. You can Google it."

"It just sounds so weird," Barbara said, taking a sip from her can. "I mean, six months is a really long time."

"I believe it," Louis said. He was mindlessly tearing one of the wrappers on the bed into pieces. "I mean, you're waiting 'cause you have to, you know? If I could wait for four hours straight for someone who never showed up then I can wait six months spread out over my entire life at a stoplight."

Barbara gave him a pitiful look. "Are you okay? I know you already answered that, but, really, are you okay?"

Louis shrugged, tossing the wrapper away and taking a sip from his can. "I'll get over it. Just a dick-move on his part," he said, giving Niall an apologetic look. "Sorry, you probably don't want to hear me talk about Harry like that."

"'S'fine," Niall reassured with a shrug, causing Louis to frown.

"Really? Aren't you two, like, best friends?" He asked, wondering if maybe the two of them had fallen out.

"Best friends? Brothers, more like," Niall said, clearing his throat and scrunching up his empty can. "Don't mean I'm going to excuse his shitty actions, though. What he did was fucked up, I ain't about to let that shit pass."

There was a part of Louis that was surprised at Niall's brutal honesty. Another part wondered who would get a heart attack first, his mother or his father, after hearing Niall's use of language. "Did you talk to him?"

Niall shook his head. "Nah. Fucker's probably out drunk somewhere, sleeping it off on a park bench or summat. Wouldn't be the first time, you know?" He sighed and reached into his pocket, holding up his pack of cigarettes. "Is it alright if I smoke in here or d'you need me to go outside?"

Louis knew he should say no. He knew he had to tell Niall that he wasn't allowed to smoke inside, that his mother would kill him for allowing it, but he just—he didn't want to come over as  _that_  type of person. Like a wimp, pretty much. So, he nodded and said, casually, "It's fine."

He watched how Niall took out a lighter and lit up a cigarette. He wondered how Niall had gotten into smoking; had he been pressured? Had it been his choice? At what age did he start?

Louis shook off the thoughts and sipped from his can again, noticing that it was nearly empty already. Whatever Niall did with his life wasn't Louis' business.

"Hey, Louis," Barbara suddenly said, reaching out and touching Louis' hand. "We're throwing a Halloween party at my place. You should come, we've been missing you."

It was that last part, the part about missing him, that had Louis stupidly happy. The idea of people missing him was so foreign that it had him feeling like he had won the lottery. He nodded enthusiastically. "I'd like that."

"Harry'll be there, though," Nialls said, blowing out smoke. "You okay with that?"

"Of course he is," Barbara said. "It's Harry who fucked up. Louis'll have no trouble avoiding him, we'll help him with that."

And Louis smiled because he couldn't find himself able to do anything else.

"Fair enough, yeah," Niall said, glancing at Louis as he brought the cigarette to his lips. After a moment, he blew out the smoke and spoke up again. "I got to ask, though; did you fancy him?"

Louis didn't know what urged him to nod, but he did, and well—there was no going back now, was there? "I had a crush, yeah. I liked him a little," he said, and sighed, dropping his forehead on his arm. "A lot, actually. I still do."

He got a sympathetic pat on the back of his head, most likely from Niall.

"Confusing, huh?" Barbara said, and Louis nodded, despite still leaning his head on his arm. "You, like, fancy him, but you also hate him for standing you up."

Louis lifted his head. "Do you think I should give him a second chance?"

Niall scoffed. "No," he said. He only continued when he saw Louis' confused expression. "Look, I know him better than anyone, yeah? And I'm telling you, you dodged a bullet with this one. He fucking sucks at relationships. Like, just take a look at him and Luke—that shit was toxic as hell. You should be glad he broke your heart now, instead of when you're deep into a relationship, you know?"

When Louis glanced at Barbara, he saw the biggest lovesick look he had ever seen. It made his heart ache in envy. He kind of wanted the same thing—actually, he  _really_  wanted the same thing.

"Look at you, all wise," Barbara teasingly said. Niall gave her a glare, but it just turned out fond. "For a drop-out, you're pretty smart, babe."

Louis felt his phone buzzing in his pocket, and he reached down to fish it out.

"Oi, I'm smart," Niall said, grabbing Barbara's empty beer can and dropping his cigarette into it. "I dropped out 'cause I hated school."

"Sure you did."

When Louis looked at the screen to see who was calling him, he promptly said, "Oh, my God," in surprise when he read Harry's name, effectively interrupting Barbara and Niall's flirting.

"What? Is Harry calling you?" Barbara hastily asked just as Niall pulled the phone out of Louis' hands.

"Yeah," Louis breathed out, looking at Barbara in a panic; he wasn't prepared to talk to Harry yet, he was still conflicted about his own feelings. "What do I do? Do I pick up?"

"I'll do it for you," Niall said, picking up the phone and putting it to his ear before Louis even had the chance to stop him. "Don't fucking call Louis."

There was a moment of silence, and Louis decided he was glad he didn't stop Niall, who was clearly about to go off on Harry.

"Yeah, I'm with him, the fuck do you think I got his phone from? No, you can't come. No. Wait, you're  _where_?" Niall said, glancing at Louis with pitiful eyes. "Oh, you fucked up, you did. Yeah, you've really done it this time. No, he's about ready to rip your fucking throat out. Lad, he's been crying all night, give him a moment to think."

Louis wasn't sure whether he was happy with Niall revealing that particular part. Also, had it really been that obvious that Louis had been crying? Or had Niall just assumed? Because, if so; kudos.

Niall suddenly looked very sad and sighed softly. "I know, mate. Yeah, I know. Hey, hey, remember what we talked about, lad," he said, his eyes filling with worry. "Yeah. We'll figure it out, remember? Yeah, exactly. The two of us, yeah."

For some reason, Louis couldn't help but feel for Harry. There genuinely seemed to be something going on with him. Then again, he had stood Louis up (twice!) and had used him multiple times (hiding the weed, cheating off his tests... there was too much).

Niall sighed again. "I'm sorry, mate, but he's genuinely done with you," he said, raising his eyebrows at Louis for confirmation in case he was saying something that wasn't true. Louis nodded. "Yeah, he's done, it's over. I don't know. Good luck with that. No, I'm not—yeah. Alright. I'll see you tonight, yeah. Yeah. Bye."

After hanging up, Niall handed Louis his phone back. "If it helps any, he hates himself right now."

Louis shrugged and tossed his phone to the end of the bed. "He should've thought of that before he flaked."

Barbara reached over and patted his arm. "There you go," she said, smiling. "Show that independence."

All Louis could offer was a small smile. Part of him still wanted to talk to Harry, and give him a second chance, but that part was just his weak and naive side. Whatever had been happening with Harry was over now, and Louis wasn't going to allow it to happen again. A person only deserved so many chances.

Still, it wasn't going to be easy for Louis to get over his feelings. Just because he was angry at Harry didn't mean that his crush had instantly vanished. It was going to be tough.

But when was anything ever easy, right?

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

The following Monday morning, Louis had to, quite literally, drag himself out of bed. It was the prospect of there being a chance of having to face Harry that made it so difficult.

The fact that Harry had religiously been blowing up Louis' phone didn't exactly help either. There had been an endless stream of texts, phone calls that turned into voicemails and even Instagram DM's and Snapchats, all in a similar fashion; apology after apology after apology. Louis hadn't responded to any of it, despite being tempted to do so. Barbara had made sure to keep him from replying by constantly sending him reminders ( ** _he's not worth it! - don't text him! - you're independent and don't need his arse!_** ). He'd also read multiple articles online as to why he shouldn't text back, which had also helped him avoiding replying.

Not because the articles were so earth shattering or gave such solid advice, but because it took up a lot of time and distracted him from his phone.

In the hopes of being able to avoid Harry who would most likely be waiting for him by his locker, Louis purposely left later than usual that morning. Waiting by his locker, however, had become a bit of a morning ritual; it probably explained why Louis' heart clenched when he didn't see Harry by his locker.

The feeling didn't last long, because Louis remembered that he always had History as his first class on Monday, a class he coincidentally shared with Harry. A class in which they had cat puns, made fun of their teacher and always sat together.

Louis was barely on time, walking into the classroom that was nearly filled already. A quick glance at his usual seat in the back showed him that Harry was already there, who immediately looked ready to beg for Louis' attention. Instead of granting Harry any sort of chance, Louis sat down in one of the seats in the front and hastily took out his stuff, putting his bag on the chair beside him. He didn't dare look back to see Harry's reaction; he knew it would probably result in Louis taking pity on him, which was the last thing Louis needed to happen.

When their teacher started the lesson, Louis actually missed the subtle meow Harry would always do. She gave Louis a bit of a surprised look at the fact that he and Harry weren't sitting together but thankfully didn't make a comment about it.

The entirety of the lesson, Louis had trouble focusing. He found himself missing the dumb cat jokes he and Harry always made, and the muffled laughter at things that weren't even funny. All in all, he missed having a friend in class. It had been nice while it lasted, he supposed.

As soon as the bell rang, Louis jumped up and left the classroom to avoid giving Harry the chance to approach him. He practically sprinted to his next class, resulting in him being the first in the classroom. Even the teacher looked surprised that he was so early; usually, teenagers weren't very eager to get to their Maths class.

The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion, with Louis doing everything he could to avoid Harry. It was only at the end of the day, after classes ended, that he found Harry waiting by his locker. In a completely improvised spur of the moment, Louis had put in his earphones, only approaching his locker afterwards.

It was fruitless because he was aware that Harry knew that he never listened to music—only when Harry was hanging out with him was there music playing. As soon as Harry spotted him, he pushed himself off the lockers and visibly straightened up.

"Louis."

Louis ignored Harry and opened his locker, zipping his bag open.

"Louis, please."

He started shoving books in his locker with a little too much aggression to come off as unbothered. He wondered if it would be too dramatic if he'd hit Harry with one of his books.

"I'm sorry, Louis," Harry said, and Louis gritted his teeth to keep in a bitter, ' _Yeah, you're a sorry individual, that's for sure,'_ and didn't respond. "I know you can hear me, Louis, you hate music, you're not listening to any."

"Actually," Louis said, and cursed himself for giving a reply, but knew he had to continue if he wanted to keep at least a bit of credibility. "I'm listening to this playlist called 'How was I dumb enough to believe the guy I liked actually wanted to go out with me?'."

Of course, count on Louis to immediately disclose way too much in a single sentence he was never even supposed to say because he was ignoring Harry. He slammed his locker shut and started shrugging on his jacket, now angry at both himself and Harry. "I've never related to Rihanna before, but she's right, you definitely know how to put on a show."

Harry pulled a sad expression and reached out to touch Louis' elbow, but Louis yanked his arm away, pretending like he wasn't bothered by the hurtful look Harry gave him. "Louis, please, let me explain," he begged, but Louis merely glared. "I promise, I have a good reason."

"Too bad this is not about you, but about your giant fucking ego that thinks I was just going to come running back at the first puppy eyes you'd give me," Louis said, wondering why his attitude had taken so long to show up. If he'd been like this in the past, maybe his life would've turned out different. Maybe Harry hadn't stood him up then.

"I'm sorry, I swear, I am."

"Are you?" Louis sarcastically said, grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder.

"Yes," Harry said, immediately following him when Louis started heading to the exit. "Louis, I like you too, I'd never stand you up on purpose."

Louis paused in his step, looking at Harry for what was only the second time in the entire conversation. "I said  _liked_ , past tense. I don't like you anymore, you fucked that up," he said. "Jesus, I moved on already, if it was that easy for me it should be even easier for you."

They were lies, God they were lies, Louis still liked Harry and had not moved on at  _all_ , but he couldn't help the satisfaction he felt when he saw Harry's face fall. At least he was experiencing the same hurt Louis was. "Louis—"

"Move _on_ ," Louis interrupted, narrowing his eyes a little. "Whatever we had is over, it's done, move on with your life. Who knows, maybe I might actually stand you again someday and we can be friends again. I wouldn't count on it, though."

With a defeated look, Harry sighed and put his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I just—I genuinely am sorry, Louis, I need you to understand that," he said. "I know I fucked up, I know, and I hate it. I never meant to."

For a moment, Louis considered forgiving Harry. It's gone when he realised that most of Harry's sentences had started with 'I'. He was making it about himself. "Should've thought of that, then."

Then he walked away, leaving Harry behind and not giving him the satisfaction of a proper goodbye.

It was only when he left the schoolyard that tears started clouding his vision, but this time, he didn't allow them to spill. He had stopped crying for his parents, and now, he was done crying for Harry too. He was done giving people his tears because clearly, it never did anything for him.

He was just... Louis was just done, and it was as simple as that.

 


	11. eleven.

 

𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟

 

Throughout the entirety of Tuesday, Harry and Louis didn't talk to each other, and it was weird to go home and not spend a Tuesday afternoon with Harry like Louis had got so used to. The same thing went for Wednesday. That afternoon, Barbara came over and taught Louis how to do face masks, discussing the plans for the Halloween party she was throwing at the same time.

It was on Thursday, during PE, that Louis was forced to talk to Harry, who had chosen that particular day to try and approach him again.

"Louis," he said, putting a hand on Louis' shoulder just as they walked into the gymnasium.

Louis shrugged his hand off as he walked. "What?"

"Can we talk? Please?" Harry asked, his eyes hopeful.

Louis couldn't find it in himself to tell Harry to fuck off, so instead, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and said, "Why? What's there to talk about?"

Harry gave him a look. "I think you know what."

"You mean how you fucked me over? Twice?"

"Come on, that's not—"

"Harry, Louis, you two are a pair?" Their PE teacher suddenly interrupted, holding out two pairs of boxing gloves. Before Louis and Harry could say anything, she handed each of them a pair. "Great, pick a spot and listen to my instructions, yeah?"

Cursing his own shyness, Louis reluctantly put on his boxing gloves. If only he actually had a bit of confidence, he could've told her that  _hell no, they weren't a pair._ Harry clearly wasn't going to say anything, as it seemed he had got exactly what he wanted. Louis decided to at least take some control over his misery, and marched over to a far corner in the rectangle room, making sure to keep his expression as pissed off as he could to really show Harry how unhappy he was with the situation.

To his surprise, Harry didn't look too ecstatic either. This only fuelled the flame: Harry should be glad Louis hadn't run out of the gym yet.

Unfortunately, the instructions weren't very long. Their teacher showed the class how to block and how to punch ("But don't actually punch! Just touch your partner's shirt and then quickly retreat your hand back into defence."). She showed everyone how to place their feet, and then told them to practice a right jab and left jab.

When Louis turned back around to face Harry, the latter grimaced. "I'll invite, you punch, yeah?" He said, and Louis, not wanting to be too difficult, just nodded.

Harry turned his left hand outwards, inviting Louis to hit his left hand, and then did his right hand. This went on for a bit, Harry alternating between inviting left and right before Louis was too annoyed with the awkward silence between them.

"Well? You wanted to talk, so talk," he said, jabbing left.

"I thought you said there was nothing to talk about?" Harry said with a raised eyebrow, and Louis gave a last, maybe a bit too aggressive punch before he took a step back.

"Your turn," he said, holding up his right hand and waiting for Harry to punch. "And yeah, I did say that, but you were the one who wanted to talk. This is your only chance."

Harry furrowed his brows together, clearly thinking about his next words as they punched left, left, right, and left again. "I wanted to explain why I didn't show up," he said. "I had a good reason."

"Okay," Louis said, maybe a bit distracted by Harry's biceps flexing whenever he would take a jab. He hated Harry, but God, the guy had muscles.

"I was really nervous, yeah? Like, dumb nervous," Harry said, unaware of Louis' staring. "And I got this text from Luke. He asked if I wanted to hang out, and I said yes 'cause I needed a distraction—"

Louis was immediately pulled out of his trance, dropping his hands to his sides in complete defeat. "You stood me up for your ex?" He asked, and even when Harry started frantically shaking his head, Louis punched him in the chest. He didn't have a lot of muscle, so it clearly didn't hurt Harry, who just looked surprised. "Are you kidding?! Your fucking—" Louis punched him again— "ex?! What is wrong—" another punch— "with you?!"

"Louis, can you calm down?" Harry said, quickly taking a step back when Louis went to take another punch. "I thought you hated attention?"

Louis promptly stopped what he was doing and noticed that a couple of people were now staring at them. His cheeks heated up in embarrassment, but he just hoped it could classify as a flushed face from the effort he was putting into his PE lesson, and not a blush.

"I hate you."

"That's fair," Harry said, offering him a weak smile. "I mean—yeah. But I wasn't finished yet."

Before Louis could reply, the sound of a whistle interrupted their both physical and verbal fight. The next instruction: this time, they were doing a cross punch.

"I went over to his with the intention of leaving in time for our date, alright?" Harry said, taking a left cross when Louis held up his right hand. "It just—I was really nervous. And Luke, he said he had a couple spliffs to help calm me down."

"What, so you got high and thought 'fuck it, I just won't show up'?" Louis said, holding up his left hand.

"Would you let me finish?" Harry exasperatedly said, hitting his hand. Louis stuck out his tongue. "I thought I'd be out of it by the time I had to pick you up, but Luke, he had laced the spliffs with something and didn't tell me because he didn't know I had plans. I just—by the time I got out of it, it was almost fucking midnight, and I had completely forgotten about our date 'cause I'd been so far gone."

He suddenly stopped punching and sighed, dropping his hands by his sides. "I never meant to hurt you, okay? I made a really dumb decision and I really fucking regret it."

At a loss for what else to do, Louis just said, "My turn."

Harry looked hurt at what was Louis' attempt at ignoring him, and held up his hands again, turning out his right hand. Louis didn't move for a second.

"Were you really that nervous?"

"Yeah."

"I was too. I didn't fuck up."

When Harry didn't reply, Louis started practising his punches. Again, he had little to no muscle strength and felt a bit stupid whenever he took a punch. He probably looked very awkward, especially compared to Harry, who was tall and muscled and much more athletic than him.

"Are you going to Barbara's party?" Harry suddenly asked.

"Yes," Louis said, pausing his punches. "Are you?"

"Yes," Harry said. Both of them visibly cringed at their awkward conversation, and Louis quickly continued throwing cross punches to try and avoid any more uncomfortableness.

The whistle went off again. Louis was glad he didn't have to look at Harry for a couple of minutes and listened maybe a bit too close to the next instructions. They were doing uppercuts now, but have to combine them with the jab and cross punches they'd learned.

As soon as Louis turned back around to face Harry again, the latter spoke up. "Will you please give me a second chance?" He said, and Louis was so surprised by the sudden question, both because he didn't expect it and because he was pretty sure he had already made it clear that he was done with Harry, that he forgot to reply. "I just—I know I fucked up, okay? I  _know,_ but I also really want to try this. If it sucks then—then you can hit me  _without_  the gloves and never have to talk to me again, I swear."

Louis bit his lip and stared at the floor. "Third, actually," he quietly said. "I already gave you a second chance, after you stood me up at the library. This would be the third."

He looked up and found a dejected Harry staring at him, clearly aware that this was Louis' way of saying no again. "I'm not going to give you another chance, because so far, you've completely butchered the ones I've already given you."

Harry breathed in deeply and nodded, momentarily glancing away. "Okay," he said, giving Louis a tight-lipped smile. "That's okay. I get it."

Louis had to resist the urge to cry right then and there and just nodded, looking away when he suddenly found it very difficult to keep eye contact. He was just very relieved when their teacher called out for everyone to get in a circle and for two volunteers to go up against each other, and he didn't have to look at Harry anymore.

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

Louis was more than a little relieved when it was a Friday afternoon and finally Autumn break. It meant that for an entire week, he could hibernate in his room, and nobody could say a thing about it (his parents would still have work, which only made it all the better). An entire week for him to be his antisocial self.

Well, maybe not all week. He still had Barbara's party he had to go to on Wednesday, but he was thinking of only staying for a small hour and then sneaking out. Halloween wasn't  _that_  great anyway.

It was the fight his parents had that Sunday night that had him climbing out of his window again. It was one of those nights where Louis just couldn't deal with his parents' bullshit for once. It wasn't like they would notice anyway, he was too unimportant for that. There was a part of him that had wanted to put on music to drown out the noise, but that would only remind him of Harry, who always knew what type of music Louis would enjoy.

He should've known that Harry would be on his mind anyway. He'd been on Louis' mind all week, even after that faithful PE boxing lesson. Louis had been wondering if maybe he should've given Harry that second chance, whether he had made a mistake by constantly turning him down. He would remind himself that Harry hadn't exactly been too great before Louis had given him a second chance, but that would only result in him remembering all the times Harry  _had_  been great. It was a confusing mess for Louis, and he wished there was a button he could press to momentarily shut off his thoughts and grant himself some peace.

But peace had never been a part of Louis' life, especially not tonight, because as if God was playing a joke on him, Louis ran into Harry—although it wasn't the most orthodox way. He found Harry in the middle of a brawl.

At first, when he spotted the fight, Louis had planned to turn around and walk in the opposite direction. It was only when he thought he spotted a familiar mop of curls that he paused, and when he heard a very familiar voice call out, "Come on then, fucker!" that he knew it was Harry.

He probably should've walked away.

But instead of using his intelligence, he approached the small crowd around Harry and the guy he was fighting, people trying to break them up or rile them up: everyone seemed to have their own plans for the fight. Louis ought himself lucky to join just as one man pulled Harry away from the other guy, holding him back with a great deal of trouble.

Harry was about to jump in again, so Louis called out in instinct. "Harry!"

When Harry clearly didn't hear him, he called out again, and this time, grabbed Harry's wrist. Harry whipped his head to him in surprise, his eyes widening when he spotted Louis. "Louis?" He said, but before Louis could reply, the other man suddenly punched Harry in the face.

Harry nearly fell from the sudden impact, stumbling for a moment, before he launched himself back into the fight. He didn't get the chance to hit the man, however, because a couple of other men had created a wall with their bodies, pushing a yelling Harry back.

"Fucker! Come on, you scared?! Absolute cunt! Yeah, you, who else, huh?!"

"Harry, shut up!" Louis said, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling on it to try and earn Harry's attention.

"You know him?" One of the men who had broken up the fight asked Louis, who nodded weakly.

"Yeah, he's my..." he hesitated as he glanced at Harry, who was now massaging his jaw and muttering an impressive variety of curses under his breath. "He's my best mate."

"You get him out of here, then. Before someone calls the cops."

Louis nodded again and grabbed Harry's wrist. "Come on," he muttered, pulling a surprisingly obedient Harry along. Louis' skin burned from where it was touching Harry's, only proving that he wasn't over his crush at all and still had feelings for Harry. That wasn't exactly what was on his mind, however. He was a bit more focused on getting Harry to someplace quieter, not too keen on the idea of the cops arresting Harry, who still hadn't said a word.

When he spotted a bus stop, Louis dragged Harry over to it and pushed him down on the bench. He stared at Harry for a moment, before punching him in the shoulder.

"Ow! What the fuck?" Harry said, grabbing his shoulder in instinct. Louis hadn't hit him that hard, which probably meant the man he had been fighting had punched him there earlier.

"What is wrong with you? Why did you fight that guy?" Louis exclaimed, whacking the side of Harry's head for extra measure. "Was PE not enough for you? Did you have to go out and experience the real thing too?"

"What—No!" Harry said, shaking his head with a frown. "I just went out to distract myself and that wanker kept making all these comments. He was acting like an arse all night, I did everyone a favour when I punched him."

"You could've got arrested!" Louis said, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "You do know that you can go to jail if you get arrested a certain number of times?"

Harry grinned, and Louis had to urge to hit him again. "Three meals a day, a bed to sleep in and a roof over my head, all for free? Don't know, sounds like a deal."

"Jesus," Louis muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. He watched how Harry massaged his jaw. "Does it hurt?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

Harry rolled his eyes and sniffed. "Thanks."

After a moment of contemplation, Louis sighed and sat down beside him. "Let me see that, then," he mumbled, shuffling a bit closer to take a look at Harry's bruising jaw and ignoring the butterflies in his stomach at the sudden close proximity. "It's going to be a pretty big bruise, you know."

"I figured, yeah," Harry quietly said, studying his knuckles closely with a small furrow in his brows. Louis took hold of his hands and nearly cringed at the blood on Harry's knuckles.

"It's not my blood."

Louis pulled a face. "Thank you, that doesn't help."

Harry chuckled and sniffed again. "Fuck, I think I'm getting a cold or something," he muttered to himself, sniffing yet again.

When Louis looked up, he immediately saw blood dripping out of Harry's nose and down his upper lip. "Shit, you're bleeding," he said, quickly checking his pockets in the hope of finding tissues. By some miracle, he managed to find a pack and quickly took out a tissue.

Harry touched under his nose with a frown, but Louis slapped his hand away and put the tissue under his nose. "Pinch your nose," he ordered, and Harry did as he said, taking hold of the tissue and accidentally touching Louis' hand.

Louis resisted the urge to let his hand linger and pulled back, sighing in disbelief at the situation he was in. There were a couple of seconds of complete silence before Louis swallowed thickly, now noticing a cut above Harry's eyebrow. He looked like he'd been losing the fight. "Are you okay?"

Harry cocked an eyebrow at him. "What do you think, doctor? Do I look okay?" He sarcastically said, his voice a lot more nasal than usual due to him pinching his nose.

"You look like shit."

"Is that your medical opinion?"

Louis scoffed and lightly hit Harry's arm, failing to keep the smile off his face. "I'm trying to be concerned about you."

Harry stared at him maybe a moment too long to call it a casual glance. "I'm fine. My ego looks worse," he said, adding a small grin. He took the tissue away from his nose, only to put it back when he found his nose was still bleeding. "So, how exactly did you find me? Were you stalking me?"

"You wish," Louis said, nudging Harry's arm. "I went out for a walk to clear my head and happened to walk into you getting your arse beat."

"I was winning," Harry said with a joking, childish pout. Louis only shook his head in amusement and looked away, biting his lip to keep his smile to a minimum.

It felt good to talk to Harry again. It felt natural as if it was always supposed to be that way. Louis realised that it probably was; he really didn't want to lose Harry as a friend. Was it too late to make up?

"How wrong would it be if I said I kind of missed talking to you?" He quietly said, keeping his eyes trained on his hands in his lap, his fingers turning a ring that wasn't there.

"It's not wrong. Confusing, maybe, but not wrong."

Louis sighed. "I'm starting to hate that word."

"Confusing word, huh?" Harry lightly joked, nudging Louis' arm and making Louis smile. Harry hesitated for a moment, clearly thinking about his next words. "You know, we can still be friends. We don't have to miss each other that way."

"What, so you can let me down again?" Louis bitterly said, meeting Harry's eyes. "I'm not really up for that."

"Neither am I, which is why I'm not going to let you down again," Harry said, and the sincerity in his voice was so strong that Louis found himself tipping over that edge again. The edge that always said yes to everything Harry wanted.

"Don't take it personally if I don't take your word for it," Louis said. "Giving you a third chance also gives you an opportunity to hurt me again."

Regret flashed in Harry's eyes as he turned his body to Louis a bit more. He took the tissue away from his nose which had finally stopped bleeding and scrunched the tissue up in his hand. "I never meant to hurt you," he said, putting one hand on Louis' leg. "Just—don't give me a third chance."

Louis furrowed his brows, trying not to respond too intensely to Harry's touch. "What?"

"You don't give me a third chance, but we can still be mates," Harry said, his eyes glimmering hopefully. "I mean, pretty sure the third chance was for the date, right? We can just be friends."

The hand on his leg told Louis otherwise.

"I—" Louis said, before deflating when he realised that he actually really wanted to stay friends with Harry. "Okay. Yeah, that works."

Harry pretty much beamed and squeezed Louis' leg affectionately. "Brilliant," he said. "Besides, you called me your best mate just now anyway."

Louis blushed furiously and looked away. "I had to tell that guy something, didn't I?"

Harry squeezed his leg again. "Not blaming you for anything," he said and smiled. "It was actually kind of nice hearing you say that. Don't know."

Louis looked at him again and couldn't find anything that indicated Harry was lying. Then again, had Harry actually ever lied to Louis? He hadn't been the most reliable, but he hadn't actually ever lied. If anything, Louis was the one who had lied a couple of times, about his parents and his father suddenly hitting him.

'Confusing' really was a stupid word.

"Come on, I'll take you home," Harry said, letting go of Louis' leg and standing up. He waited for Louis to do the same, who did so after a brief moment of contemplation.

The walk back to Louis' house was silent. Louis was thinking about his decisions lately, and what kind of consequences they were bringing. Harry was too busy massaging his bruising knuckles to notice Louis' inner turmoil. By the time they were in Louis' street, Louis was tempted to tell Harry that maybe they shouldn't be friends anyway. Not because Louis didn't want to be friends, but because he was afraid of his feelings for Harry. He didn't want those to grow stronger.

"For the party Wednesday," Harry suddenly started, giving up on trying to make his knuckles less painful, "you should go dressed as a cat."

Louis crinkled his nose in disdain. "'Cause of our cat puns?"

 _Our_.

"That, and you remind me of a cat," Harry said, a hint of teasing in his voice.

"Because I'm cute?" Louis joked, not knowing what to do with himself when Harry nodded.

"Yeah, that," he said, casually, as if it was nothing, "but also because you can disappear for a few hours and then suddenly come back and push people away a couple minutes later so you can disappear again, and you're also pretty passive aggressive, and moody, and—"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Louis said with a grin, elbowing Harry's side. "But if that's how it works, you should go dressed like a dick."

"'Cause I'm—" Harry cut himself off when he realised what Louis meant, barking out a laugh and clapping his hands together. Louis did not find his loud, honking laugh endearing, at all. Nope. He didn't. "Oh, that's good, that is. Well found."

But he was a little proud of producing that laugh with Harry.

When they stopped in front of Louis' house, Harry suddenly grabbed Louis' wrist. Louis scolded his heart when it jumped at the sudden contact. "I was serious about the cat thing, though," Harry said, his eyes flickering over Louis' face. "You'd look good."

_Be cool, Louis, you're just friends, the compliment meant nothing, just say something cool._

"I'm not wearing a skirt, though."

_What the fuck was that?_

"Don't know, you do have the legs for it."

Louis knew he had to leave quickly before he'd do something far too stupid to recover from, and gently tugged his wrist out of Harry's grip, offering him a smile. "I'll see you Wednesday, then?"

"Obviously," Harry said, and gave Louis a once-over, almost as if he was checking him out, but Louis quickly dismissed that thought. "See you Wednesday, Lou."

And then he walked off with that signature confident strut, a slight swagger in his step that Louis could only dream of having. He still walked as if he owned the world, as if it was his own runway. Louis still walked with his head down and his shoulders tense, as if he was afraid of everyone around him.

After a moment, Louis stopped watching Harry and hoisted himself up on top of the garage, before climbing through his still opened window.

It took him a while to fall asleep. His mind was filled with Harry, wondering whether he had made a mistake by saying yes to the 'just friends'-proposition. They both had too much of an interest in each other to classify it as friendship, they had both admitted as much, and it was difficult to abandon that so suddenly and go on as friends. At least, for Louis it was. Maybe it was easier for Harry; he had exes to run back to: Luke, for example. He seemed more than willing to jump back into a relationship with Harry if Louis' observations were representative enough to make that conclusion.

And then there was also the problem that Louis sucked at emotions and was probably just digging himself in deeper.

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

"You know, I've never seen a guy dressed up as a cat for Halloween before," Barbara said as she put a peachy, slightly golden shimmer on Louis' eyelids. "I mean, I'm not complaining. I love that we're going with matching outfits, but still. It's pretty brave, I guess."

So, Louis might have lied a little bit when he told Barbara he wanted the two of them to go as cats for their best friends Halloween costumes. He couldn't exactly tell her that he wanted to go as a cat because the guy he was supposed to hate told him he'd look fit as one. Nobody was actually yet aware of the fact that Louis and Harry had reconciled, to some degree. Any romantic connections were out of the window, but at least they were friends again.

And it wasn't like his suggestion was out of place anyway. Barbara had been complaining that Niall didn't want to do a couple's costume this year, so his idea of doing matching costumes was more than a little appreciated.

The party was starting in about an hour, and he was over at Barbara's house so that she could do his makeup. Upon seeing the house, Louis had immediately understood where Barbara's money came from: her house was big. Really big. Really fucking huge, actually (" _As I said, Dad owns the school I go to, and Mum is a software developer. So, like, no pressure for my future career or anything._ ").

"Is it too cliche?" Louis asked, making sure not to accidentally move and ruin any of Barbara's hard work. "Cats  _are_  pretty overdone."

"Whatever. It's a super slutty choice, and you and I are going to rock it and show Niall what he's missing out on," Barbara said, pausing for a moment. "And Harry."

"And Harry," Louis agreed, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile. Yeah, he was going to show Harry.

"Alright, sit really still for this one, I'm going to do eyeliner."

Louis opened one of his eyes and warily eyed the eyeliner pencil. "Don't do a wing."

"You mean a cat-eye?" Barbara said, wiggling her eyebrows at the pun.

"No, don't do that. Just a line above my lashes will do," Louis said. He realised that he only really liked cat-puns when it was with Harry. It felt like sharing a secret with Barbara that he'd rather have kept to himself. Cat-puns was their thing, Harry and Louis', and nobody else's.

As friends. Just as friends.

"Fine, no wing," Barbara said, and once Louis was certain she was serious, he closed his eyes again. After a moment, he felt Barbara's hand on his cheek to keep a steady grip on the eyeliner, and then the cold makeup on his eyelid. "You shouldn't wear a skirt, though."

"Blokes can't wear skirts?"

"No, they can, you just don't..." Barbara trailed off for a moment, before making a small sound of recognition. "Hm. Nevermind. You  _do_  have the legs for it."

It had to be a conspiracy, it simply had to be. How else did everyone think the same things about Louis all the time?

"You know who has the legs for a skirt?" Louis said. He waited for a moment in case Barbara would take a guess, only continuing when she stayed silent. "Harry."

"Fair," she said, moving on to the next eyelid. "Why mention him, though? Thought you hated him."

"Don't hate him," Louis said, opening his eyes and blinking a couple of times when he felt Barbara lean back again.

"You still like him, then?" Barbara asked, putting the cap on her eyeliner and then grabbing mascara. "I mean, like-like him? Like, you want to kiss him-like him?"

"No," Louis said, hoping that it would both convince Barbara and his own heart. "I—no. Just don't hate him."

Barbara nodded and held out the mascara to Louis. "Think you can manage this one?" She asked. "Don't want to poke your eye out."

"I think so," Louis said, standing up from the carpeted floor and walking over to the floor length mirror beside Barbara's closet. "Are you wearing a skirt?"

"No. Skirt was a disaster last year," Barbara said, cleaning up her makeup by storing it in a small bag that she put on her desk. "Just going to do a jumpsuit. Tight one, though, kind of like Catwoman, you know?"

"Sounds hot."

"Right?"

Sometimes, Louis wondered whether Barbara was aware that he still liked girls romantically. She talked about things with him that he was pretty sure she never discussed with any of the other guys and did things she probably never did with other guys. For example, right now: she was getting dressed in front of him, shamelessly. He was literally sat in the middle of her bed, cross-legged, watching her get dressed.

She was wearing matching underwear, and Louis decided that if he'd take a picture of her right now and send it to Victoria's Secret, Barbara would be hired in an instant. However, being a guy, he wasn't about to tell her that he still liked girls; he was going to take what he could. So he watched Barbara get dressed and had a brief panic when he realised that he didn't have any response to it. He was also starting to feel a bit guilty and slightly perverted.

"You know I'm not gay, right?" Louis asked as Barbara padded around the room in just her underwear. "Like, I can still get off on girls if I wanted to."

"I know. But you don't like me," Barbara said, sending him a quick smile. "Besides, you're still stuck on Harry."

"Am not," Louis brought in with a frown. "I told you already."

"Stop lying to yourself, you've got a big, fat, fucking crush on him and you know it," Barbara said, pulling on her jumpsuit.

Louis sighed dramatically and let himself fall back on the bed, his arms spread out beside him as he stared at the ceiling. "He's so fucking fit, though," he quietly said, realising that there was no use in lying to Barbara.

The girl plopped onto the bed beside him, leaning her hand in her palm with a small smile. "Tell me about it. Vent. Let it all out, pet."

"He just, like, gets me, you know?" Louis said, meeting her eyes and preparing himself for a long rant. "Like, he never pressures me to talk, ever, always makes sure I'm comfortable with whatever we're doing, he actually likes my drawings, he makes me playlists when I'm down to cheer me up and when we talk it's like—like—"

"Like everything makes sense?" Barbara finished for him.

Louis sighed again. "Yeah."

Barbara smiled and patted his chest. "I know what it's like, babes. Had the same thing when I met Niall," she said and shuffled closer to lean her head on Louis' chest. "If it helps any, everyone can see that it's mutual."

"I know. Or, I think I know," Louis said, furrowing his brows together. "I mean, I know he wants to fuck, for one thing. Don't know if he wants anything serious, though."

"Don't think I can answer that for you," Barbara said with an apologetic smile. "Harry's a mysterious person. If you want answers, I think you're just going to have to be straight-up with him."

Louis was silent for a moment, slowly going over her words. "Whatever," he eventually said. "It's over anyway. I just need to get over him."

Barbara patted his leg. "Just hook up with someone tonight, get that frustration out."

Louis smiled weakly.

If only he had the guts for that.


	12. twelve.

****

𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕧𝕖

 

The room practically vibrated around Louis as the heavy bass pounded into the air, thick with the scent of alcohol, bodies and smoke. Music flowed through the house, resounding off the walls and obliterating the potential for any conversation. Well, it wasn't like that was the point; people came to parties for two reasons: to get completely drunk and find somebody to kiss. Almost like that Queen song.

Louis took a sip from his drink, watching the crowd in front of him. He seemed to be the only one in the entire house that wasn't having a blast. He was just... bored, really. The unrelenting sense of apprehension didn't leave his body, nor did the awkwardness that had joined him in his lonely game of people-watching.

Any sense of fun he had in the first place had disappeared alongside Barbara, who hadn't been in his peripheral for the last forty-five minutes. Because of this, Louis had opted on leaning against a wall in the living room with his cup of lukewarm beer that didn't taste good at all, feeling like everyone was watching and simultaneously judging him for being such an outstanding loner in the least anti-social setting there was.

Nonetheless, he wasn't actually blaming Barbara. It was her party, meaning she had to meet everyone who came and had to make sure nothing would break. She didn't need Louis to cling onto her all night, despite that being the exact thing he had planned on doing.

Entertained wasn't the word he'd use for how he was feeling at the moment. He felt a lot of things, tipsy being the most noticeable one. Before the party had started, Louis had made the promise to himself to go easy on the alcohol, as last time's debacle of a morning after his first party had taught him a lot.

It was right as he finished his drink that he spotted Harry on the other side of the room, and of course, he looked stupidly good. Even with the lower half of his face painted to look like a skull, he managed to look like he'd just walked straight out of a magazine.

An odd sense of confidence suddenly washed over Louis. He found himself wanting to talk to Harry, to start the conversation for once instead of relying on Harry to make the first move. He put his empty cup down on a nearby table, straightening out his shirt and ignoring his suddenly pounding heart.

The confidence had probably come from the fact he actually felt good about his appearance. The makeup had a good effect on both his mood and physical appearance (despite looking like a cat), and his clothes added to the feeling. He was wearing a ripped black t-shirt, the rips supposed to be from his non-existent claws, and the same jeans Harry had convinced him to wear for Louis' first party, getting half-hard as a result.

Louis still hadn't forgotten about that.

He thought he looked good. Hadn't Barbara said something about showing people what they were missing out on? Louis could really show Harry what he had lost when he had stood Louis up.

Taking a deep breath, he straightened his back and started walking towards Harry. It wasn't easy, trying to move through the dense crowd, but just as Louis started getting close, someone yelled out his name and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Louis, mate! Good to see you!" The person said, and when Louis looked up, he found it was a very drunk Liam, dressed as a vampire of all things. Lacking originality, in Louis' personal opinion—then again, he was dressed as a cat. If anything,  _he_  was lacking originality. "Alright?"

Louis nodded stiffly. "You?"

"Yeah, yeah, doing good," Liam said, grinning widely as if speaking to Louis was such a blast. "You a cat?" He asked, but before Louis could reply, he leaned a bit closer. "Is that eyeshadow?"

"And eyeliner," Louis blurted out, his cheeks heating up at his unnecessary addition to Liam's observation.

After a, on Louis' part tense moment, Liam leaned back and nodded slowly with an approving look. "Suits you, lad," he said, and then patted Louis' shoulder, still not taking his arm off. "Let's get you a drink, yeah? It's against the rules to be sober when you're at a Palvin Party."

Before Louis could tell Liam that no, rather not, the latter already started dragging him to a table in the corner of the room where a multitude of bottles and a keg stand were stalled out. "You liked the strong stuff right?" Liam asked, finally letting go of Louis, who couldn't deny the disappointment of losing Harry in the crowd.

He muttered out a small, "Yeah," as he watched Liam mix  _whatever_ , his mind going back to Barbara and wondering if she was okay. He knew she was probably having a great time, but that did not mean he wasn't going to worry about her; for all he knew, she could be in a fight or passed out somewhere.

A drink is suddenly shoved in his hand, and Liam offered him a grin again. "Go mingle, mate, make some friends," he said, ruffling Louis' hair. "Get laid. Have a good time, alright?"

"Okay," Louis said, giving Liam a weak smile and knowing that 'mingling' was not something you could find in his dictionary. "You too."

Liam laughed and patted Louis' shoulder as he passed him. "You can count on that," he said, his attention diverted to someone else as he called out, "Oi, Charlie! What's up, mate?"

With a new, presumably far too strong drink in his hand, Louis is once again left alone in the crowded room. There's a part of him that's glad Liam hadn't judged him on his choice of costume, another part wondering whether it was weird for a guy to wear actual makeup in the daily sense of life. He'd be lying if he said it didn't make him feel good, wearing eyeshadow. The disappointing part was that he knew he'd never have the confidence to wear makeup out in public, especially not while under his parents' roof. They'd be more than a little judgemental, to put it mildly.

With a sigh, Louis started weaving himself through the moving bodies to leave the room. He took a sip from his cup, crinkling his nose when a rather foul taste spread through his mouth. Note to self: never let Liam prepare any drinks ever again.

It was when he finally managed to escape the crowd that he chose to hang out in a hallway for a bit, only for his plans to be rudely interrupted by a hand suddenly grabbing his upper arm. Before Louis could even blink, he was pulled into what he saw was a bathroom by someone, his drink sloshing over the edge of his cup and wetting his hand.

His heart stopped for a moment when he saw it was Harry who had pulled him into the bathroom, and who was now closing the door again. After he was finished, he turned to face Louis with a smirk. His hand was still holding Louis' upper arm.

"Hi," he said, looking Louis up and down for a quick second as if he was checking Louis out. Louis assumed that was the case; he looked good, Harry was allowed to look tonight. "Can finally talk to you."

"Finally?" Louis asked, aware that Harry's thumb was now drawing small circles over his skin.

"Yeah, been trying to find you all night," Harry said, shuffling just a bit closer and making Louis realise that they had been rather close in the first place already. He could smell the strong stench of alcohol on Harry's breath, proving Harry was already drunk. "Finally find you, fuckin' Liam interrupts."

"I was trying to get to you when he stopped me," Louis dumbly said, feeling just a bit intimidated by the green eyes staring him down with a flicker of  _something_ that Louis just couldn't identify.

Harry grinned, clearly satisfied with Louis' reply and took his cup from him, taking a sip and then pulling a disgusted face. "That's terrible, the fuck?"

"Liam mixed it."

"Explains it," Harry said, putting the cup on the counter behind Louis, his hand sliding down Louis' arm and stopping just above his hand, now lightly gripping his wrist. "Liam sucks at mixing drinks."

"So I found out," Louis said, trying to ignore the trail of heat Harry's touch had left on his arm. "I, uhm—I like your makeup."

The compliment made Harry smile, though Louis wasn't sure if the amusement hidden in it was because the compliment was so out of place, or because he could tell Louis was nervous. "Thanks. I like yours," Harry said. "You took my advice."

"I went matching with Barbara," Louis said, blindly reaching behind him to take a big sip of his personal liquid courage, refusing to pull a face at the horrible taste.

"Still a cat, innit?" Harry pointed out, his smile growing when he saw Louis' nerves spiking. Louis didn't want to give Harry the satisfaction, and to drive his point further home that he wasn't  _that_  nervous and momentarily forgetting about his promise not to get drunk, he took another gulp. He nearly shivered when the taste became too overpowering and put the now half empty cup down again.

"Some prick told me I'd look good dressed as one," Louis said, suddenly feeling bold as he leaned back against the counter, practically inviting Harry to lean in further.

Understanding the not so subtle hint, Harry grinned and stepped further into Louis' space, leaving little room between the two of them. "Did the prick have a point?"

"You tell me," Louis said, his breath definitely not hitching when Harry's hand slipped down further and their fingers intertwined.

 _Just friends, just friends, fuck, you're just friends, Louis, stop this already_.

He just can't really get himself to tell Harry to step back and let go of his hand, not now the alcohol is starting to take its hold and he doesn't feel nearly as nervous anymore.

"I think he was more than right," Harry mumbled, glancing down and now shamelessly checking Louis out. "Look proper fit."

"Yeah?" Louis breathed out, straightening up against the counter and accidentally bringing their faces much closer as a result. He needed a moment to recollect, wondering if Harry was going to kiss him when the latter glanced at his lips. "You look pretty good too."

Harry bit his lip, his other hand landing on Louis' hip. "Guess we both like what we see, then."

"Guess so," Louis said, his mouth suddenly very dry when Harry leaned in.

It was clear he was going in for a kiss, and Louis found himself lifting his head towards Harry. Leave it to fate to interrupt yet again, because the door suddenly opened and caused Harry to jump back, not letting go of Louis' hand but putting a fair amount of distance between the two of them.

The guy that had opened the door and had interrupted their moment looked surprised for a moment before he laughed—it took Louis a moment, but then he finally recognised Michael. "Oops, sorry, am I interrupting something?" he slurred, not sounding the slightest bit regretful.

"No, no," Harry said, shaking his head. Louis copied his moves, frantically shaking his head.

"Yeah, you didn't—I mean, no, uh," he stammered, closing his eyes at his dumb rambling.

"Okay then," Micheal said, eyeing their still intertwined hands. "I do kind of need to pee really bad, though, so if you two could, you know."

"Right," Louis said, straightening up and forgetting about his cup as he started pulling Harry with him out the door. He made sure not to let go of his hand, the alcohol in his system telling him that it was completely justifiable; he didn't want to lose Harry in the big house, was all.

The more sober part of his brain told him to go to the living room to at least be surrounded by a crowd, hopefully preventing any more accidental almost-kissing. Well, sort of accidental. It couldn't happen, to put it simply.

Louis couldn't actually pull them into the crowd, because Harry suddenly pushed him against the same wall Louis had been leaning against not too long ago, stepping into his space again and letting go of Louis' hand, grabbing his waist instead. It happened so suddenly that Louis' breath hitched in his throat, his hand automatically grabbing Harry's wrist in complete surprise.

"You forgot your drink," Harry said, and it was such an unexpected thing for Louis to hear, that he had to blink a couple of times to figure out what Harry was talking about.

"Didn't like it anyway," he ultimately said, aware that Harry's forehead was nearly leaning against his own.

"You want a new one?" Harry asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Louis shook his head, gripping Harry's wrist a little tighter. "Kind of want to stay here with you," he said, proud of his own bold statement, especially when he saw Harry's eyes glimmer with intrigue.

"Good, kind of want the same," he said, now fully leaning his forehead against Louis'.

It was probably a bit odd, the way they were just staring into each other's eyes while a David Guetta song was playing in the background. Something about loving someone 'like I do', but Louis couldn't really focus on it, Harry taking up most, if not all of his attention. The song had a strong bass, making it feel as if his heart was beating along to the melody.

He couldn't kiss Harry. It just couldn't happen. That didn't stop him from wanting to, however. He was very much on board with the idea of losing his first kiss at a Halloween party, pressed against a wall and a little drunk—he'd be losing it to Harry. That was the most important part. Harry could take his first kiss, that was completely fine in Louis' book.

Seemingly sick of only staring, Harry suddenly nudged his nose against Louis', tilting his head so that his lips just barely brushed against Louis'; it was so light it was barely detectable. It was, however, enough for a small sense of sensibility to return to Louis, who turned his head away, preventing anything from going further. They just couldn't. It would go against their 'just friends'-policy, a policy Louis actually wanted to follow to save himself from any possible future heartbreak.

In spite of this policy, Harry didn't seem to agree with Louis' course of action and let go of his waist with one hand, grabbing his chin instead and gently tugging him back. He tilted Louis' head with perfect precision, and this time, Louis didn't stop anything from happening anymore, allowing Harry to lean in and brush their lips together, something that wasn't yet a kiss. Any and all apprehension was now out the window, buried under alcohol and lust.

It was prolonged suspense, thickening the sexual tension by not kissing just yet, and when Louis nudged his head forward, Harry pulled back a little, a smirk overtaking his features. Despite their faces still being intimately close, Louis ached for Harry to be even closer and grabbed the front of his shirt, tugging him forward and finally,  _finally,_ Harry tilted his head to properly kiss Louis.

But of course, nothing was ever allowed to happen, because suddenly, a loud, Irish voice interrupted them, an arm slotted between their chests and pushed Harry back. "Oi,  _oi_ , not happening!" Niall said, and Louis needed a moment to collect himself, wondering what exactly had just happened as Harry disappeared from his touch.

"The fuck, Niall?" Harry asked, his cheeks red and eyes filled with that same lust Louis felt, clearly just as bewildered by Niall's sudden interruption.

"I know what you're doing, mate, and it's not happening," Niall said, pushing Harry back even further. "That ship sailed a long time ago. Go find another victim, anyone besides Louis, alright?"

Louis started to think that the two of them didn't seem to be aware that he could still hear them if their conversation was anything to go by.

"Victim? The hell are you on about?" Harry asked, roughly pushing Niall's arm away with an angry expression. "We're having a good time, that's all. What's your problem?"

"You're going to end up breaking his heart again, that's my problem," Niall said, sparing Louis a quick glance over his shoulder and sending him a smile before he turned back to Harry. "Let's go before the two of you do something you regret, yeah?"

"Fuck off, mind your own business," Harry said, his hands balling into fists as he stepped closer to Niall, who immediately put a hand on Harry's chest to try and keep a distance.

"Easy, Styles," he said, his voice suddenly much lower.

After a tense moment, Harry stepped back and glanced at Louis, something changing in his expression when their eyes met. "I'll see you in a bit?" He said, hoping that Louis was just as willing to continue what was interrupted as he was.

Before Louis could get out a decisive, "Yeah," Niall shook his head and wrapped an arm around Louis' shoulders, pulling him away from Harry.

"Nice try, not fucking happening," he said, and then dragged Louis away, leaving Harry behind with a dejected expression. Louis was quite sure they left a piece of his heart with Harry too.

After dragging Louis around, he and Niall ended up outside in the garden, where it was a lot colder and quieter, groups of dressed-up teenagers scattered around. Niall led Louis over to one of the groups sitting on the porch, and Louis immediately recognised Barbara among them, his lips curling into a smile when their eyes met. She was sat on the steps of the porch, a blanket around her shoulders and a cigarette between her fingers. The group she was sitting close to wasn't talking to her, proving that she wasn't involved with any of them at the moment.

"Hey!" She excitedly said, patting the spot beside her and ushering Louis to join her on the steps. Niall let go of his shoulders so that he could do so, and as soon as he sat down, Barbara put the blanket around him as well so that they were sharing it, huddled together in the cold October air. "Where have you been?"

Louis glanced at Niall, expecting him to say something about what he had interrupted, but thankfully, he stayed silent. "Just walking around a bit," Louis settled on saying, turning back to Barbara.

"Find anything interesting?" she asked, taking a drag from her cigarette. Louis shook his head. "I heard from Niall that Harry had his eyes set on you all night."

It probably should've been obvious from the start that Niall's interruption hadn't just been a happy coincidence. Niall had probably been keeping an eye on them and had interrupted with the assumption he was helping Louis out. Who knows, maybe he had helped Louis out by not allowing anything to happen; it definitely saved a lot of future troubles.

"He didn't talk to you, did he? We made sure he didn't actually get close to you," Barbara continued. It explained a lot, really: Liam was probably in on it too, stopping Louis from reaching Harry. In a way, it was sweet, that they were all looking out for Louis. It would've been nice if he had known about it, though. "We know that you turned him down and all, so we thought we'd help you avoid him a bit. Harry doesn't really understand the word 'no' all that well."

"I, uh, thanks?" Louis said, guiltily biting his lip and looking away, trying not to search anything behind the last sentence. "You should know that Harry and I—we made up, I guess? Sort of? Like, we're friends again."

Barbara exhaled a breath of smoke, nodding slowly. "Really? When?"

"Not too long ago," Louis said, relieved that she wasn't angry about him keeping quiet about it. "I kind of thought Harry would've told you already."

"Did you forget the part when I told you that Harry, like, never talks about anything going on in his life?" Barbara asked with an amused smile.

With a slightly awkward chuckle, Louis nodded. "Right," he said. "He's private."

"To put it mildly," Niall said, finally joining the conversation instead of just listening. He sat down on the steps under them, leaning his back against the railing. Without even having to ask, Barbara gave him another cigarette and a lighter.

Much to Louis' surprise, she held one out to him as well. "You smoke?" she asked, and Louis shook his head, wondering if it wasn't stupidly obvious that he didn't. "You want to try?"

"Isn't it bad for you?" Louis asked, glancing between the couple in front of him. "I heard it's, like, gross, too."

"It doesn't taste that bad," Barbara said, making the decision for Louis and pushing an unlit cigarette in his hand. "If it did, nobody would do it."

Louis nodded, not entirely on board with the idea, but still put the cigarette to his lips, letting Barbara light it. Not wanting to end up in a coughing fit, something he knew could potentially happen, he only breathed in a little bit, taking the cigarette away from his lips and—tasted nothing.

He exhaled the smoke, pulling a slightly confused face. Much to his embarrassment, Niall laughed and patted his knee, pointing to his face. "You have to, like, inhale it, not keep it in your mouth," he said. "Only keep it in your mouth for a couple seconds and then sort of, like, breathe it in, you know, take a deep breath."

"The smoke cools down if you hold it in your mouth for a moment," Barbara explained with a small smile that appeared a little proud. "If you immediately breathe in it'll burn your throat."

"Right," Louis said, bringing the cigarette to his lips again. This time, he did what the others had explained, making sure to not do too much at once. Almost immediately, the foreign feeling gave him a serious desire to cough, and for a moment, he thought he was able to suppress it. When he blew the smoke out, however, he couldn't help a couple of discreet coughs.

"Not bad, lad," Niall said, patting his knee with a grin. "For a first timer that was pretty good."

"Yeah, I'm sure mum's proud," Louis sarcastically muttered, causing Niall and Barbara to burst into laughter.

"Her perfect little son smoking a cigarette," Barbara said, playfully tutting and shaking her head. Her smile widened when Louis took another drag.

He was trying to get used to the feeling, because, oddly enough, the aftermath of the cigarette made him feel good. A little lighter than normal, maybe a bit euphoric, even. It was a welcome feeling.

It was when Louis took another drag, silently scolding himself for giving in to peer pressure and then actually enjoying it, that a bunch of yelling came from inside. After a second or so, the door opened and two guys came stumbling out, throwing punches at each other while the crowd followed, either trying to break them up or encouraging them to keep going.

Then Louis recognised one of them as Harry.

"For fuck's sake," Niall muttered, seeming to recognise Harry just as Louis did, tossing his cigarette into the grass and climbing to his feet. "Every fucking time."

When Louis went to get up, Barbara put a hand on his knee and shook her head. "Don't bother, Niall's got it," she said, scoffing at the fight Niall was now approaching in a rather leisurely pace. "I swear, he's always got to start something."

"He does get into fights pretty often," Louis said, more to himself than to Barbara, who nodded with a sigh.

"Often? More like every single time," she said, taking a drag from her cigarette. "Every single time we go out or to a party, Harry starts shit with someone."

"It didn't happen when I joined you guys for the first time," Louis said, also taking a drag again, suddenly a bit defensive over Harry. Stupid crush, stupid, stupid crush.

Barbara scoffed. "'Cause he was too busy drooling over you to focus on anyone else," she said, and it was said so casually that Louis promptly choked on his inhalation of smoke, coughing a couple of times when his throat burned.

Right as he managed to stop coughing, Niall had succeeded in breaking up the fight, leading Harry away and roughly pushing him down on the steps beside Louis. "Why you always got to start shit, huh?" He said, smacking Harry on the back of the head before returning to his original spot.

"Didn't start shit," Harry slurred, clearly substantially drunker than he was the last time Louis had seen him. How was it even possible for someone to get that much drunker in such a short amount of time? Had Harry downed a bottle of vodka in the twenty minutes he and Louis had been separated? "Was fuckin' winning, though, tell you that much."

"Tell that to your black eye," Barbara said, raising an eyebrow and tossing her now finished cigarette into the grass.

"Piss off," Harry said, swaying on the spot despite sitting down. His eyes fell on Louis, and then the cigarette. "'S'bad for you, you know."

"So is fighting," Louis pointed out, vaguely noting that Harry definitely smoked as well and not just at parties. It resulted in a snort from Harry.

"Not if you win," he said. After a second or so, he suddenly leaned his head on Louis' shoulder, causing for Louis to tense and the other two to raise their brows and await Louis' response. "I was winning."

"You said that already," Louis said, aware that he should probably shake Harry off, but finding it very difficult to do what was expected of him.

"Well, good, 's'the truth," Harry mumbled, his hand landing on Louis' thigh.

This time, Louis managed to find some sensibility and grabbed Harry's hand, returning it to Harry's lap where it then stayed. The heat on Louis' thigh didn't leave.

"What's got you so clingy?" Barbara asked, giving Louis a look and miming ' _what the fuck?_ ' at him. Louis immediately felt guilty, realising that what he was doing could be classified as being two-faced. To Harry, he was acting as if he liked him (which he did, that was the worst part), and to Barbara, he acted as if he didn't even want to be around Harry.

"'M not clingy, fuck off," Harry said, grabbing the cigarette from Louis and putting it to his lips. Louis watched maybe a bit too intently how Harry exhaled the smoke, mesmerised by what he was seeing. How was it even possible for someone to be completely wasted, beaten up and with smudged face paint to still look beautiful? It was entirely unfair, is what it was.

"I think Louis would beg to differ," Niall said, lightly kicking Louis' shin. Louis didn't meet his eyes, ashamed of everything he was doing at the moment.

"Then he can beg," Harry simply said, tossing the cigarette—that wasn't even his—between his feet and stomping it out. He suddenly stood up, swaying on his feet a little. "'M going to get a drink."

"You've had enough, I think," Louis said, a bit concerned that Harry might end up with alcohol poisoning.

"You think wrong," Harry said, not even realising he was grammatically incorrect as he started stumbling towards the door.

"Shit," Niall said, jumping up alongside Louis and Barbara. He turned to his girlfriend with an irritated expression. "Reckon he can sleep here?"

Barbara nodded, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. "Sure," she stiffly said, and Louis' heart sank at her expression.

Her plan had been to throw a party and to have fun. Now, she wasn't having fun at all, forced to look after a pissed Harry when all she wanted was to have a good night.

So, immediately, Louis decided to give her that. "I'll look after him," he said. "Just tell me which room?"

"There's one, two doors down from mine," Barbara said, furrowing her brows together in concern at Louis. "Are you sure, though? Wouldn't you rather stay downstairs?"

"It's fine," Louis quickly assured her, putting on a smile. "I'll just toss him in bed and lock the door, won't take very long. You two have fun, yeah? Don't worry about anything."

Niall patted his shoulder. "Thanks, mate," he said, smiling at him. "We'll take the short straw next time, alright?"

"You got it," Louis said.

He left a clearly relieved Niall and Barbara behind as he rushed inside to find Harry, not wanting to lose him in the house. For all he knew, Harry would get into another fight with someone, which was the last thing anyone needed right now.

Thankfully, Louis spotted him fairly quickly, stumbling towards the table where all the alcohol was stalled out. After pushing himself past sweaty bodies and rather intimate scenes, Louis managed to reach Harry before the latter could prepare anything to drink.

"Harry," he said, grabbing Harry's shoulder and turning him around. "Come on, yeah? Let's go upstairs."

"Don't want to," Harry said, pulling himself loose and nearly falling over as a result.

"You can't even walk right now, let's go," Louis said, a lot rougher with Harry now, who he started pulling through the living room towards the stairs.

It was only when people started sending them suggestive looks that Louis realised what they looked like; dragging each other upstairs to the bedrooms wasn't exactly a very innocent scene. The fact that Harry suddenly had his hands all over Louis didn't help either.

They travelled from his waist to his shoulders to even his bum at one point, which Louis put a stop to by slapping Harry's hand away. Halfway up the stairs, Harry nearly tripped and forced Louis to practically carry him the rest of the way, his arm around Louis' shoulders along with his full weight.

"You look hot as a cat," Harry randomly said, and if it hadn't been for Louis' stressed out mood, he would've probably laughed at the out of place comment.

"You look like a hot mess," Louis retorted, finally spotting the room Barbara had mentioned and hoping that his knees weren't going to give in before they reached it.

Harry chuckled and then hiccuped. "You think I'm hot?" He said, but Louis didn't reply. Instead, he took the last few necessary steps to get to the guest room and then opened the door, pushing Harry inside and then quickly locking it, making sure that nobody could walk inside.

"'S'a pretty room," Harry mumbled, looking around with an expression close to awe. Louis hummed in disinterest, running a hand through his hair and vaguely noting he needed to have a shower. He smelled like smoke and sweat and alcohol, two of which he had to get rid of by the time he left the house the next morning.

"Kind of like you," Harry said, sending Louis a grin as if he had just given a spectacular compliment and hadn't actually compared Louis to a bedroom.

"Thanks," Louis absently said, wondering if Harry remembered their almost-kiss. From the intoxicated state he was in, Louis didn't count on it.

Knowing he probably wouldn't return to the party downstairs, Louis kicked off his shoes, aware that Harry was staring at him. He didn't pay him any mind and grabbed his shoes, placing them beside the bed.

Harry suddenly walked over, and before Louis could react, hugged him. In complete surprise at the sudden move, Louis stilled in Harry's arms. Unbothered by Louis not hugging him back, Harry buried his face in the crook of Louis' neck.

"'M sorry," he mumbled, his lips brushing against Louis' skin.

Louis, feeling like he was suddenly on fire, swallowed thickly. He put a hand on Harry's hip. "What for?"

"Being such a fuck up," Harry said, the pain in his voice unmistakably obvious. It came from a more honest place than his sober mind had probably intended it to come from.

"You're not a fuck up," Louis said, bringing his other hand up and brushing through Harry's curls to provide him with a bit of comfort. "You fuck up, but you're not  _a_  fuck up."

Harry snorted dryly, lifting his head and nosing against Louis' cheek, causing for Louis' breath to hitch in his throat. "I'm sorry for messing us up," he quietly said, his breath fanning over Louis' jaw. "Saw myself dating you. Fucked that up too."

There was a small silence. Louis wondered if Harry could hear his pounding heart. He realised that this was a raw side of Harry, that the apologies he had given prior to this one had been completely sincere because if he was completely wasted and still remorseful about his actions, it meant that he genuinely regretted what had happened. That was enough for Louis to forgive him for it all.

"When you're sober," he started, trying not to buckle through his knees, "you should ask me out again."

"You'd say yes?" Harry asked, now fully lifting his head and meeting Louis' eyes.

"Don't know," Louis sincerely said. "I'm not entirely sober either."

Harry grinned and chuckled, leaning his forehead against Louis'. "Okay," he mumbled, suddenly nudging his head forward and pressing a kiss to Louis' lips. It was a quick, simple peck and nothing more, but enough for Louis' heart to explode. The whole world stopped for a small second, with Louis completely frozen in Harry's arms.

So, that was that, then. He had lost his first kiss just like that, via a simple peck from an intoxicated Harry at a Halloween party in a bedroom that wasn't his. And he didn't regret it at all. Maybe it wasn't the way he had imagined it, but that didn't mean he regretted it happening. Louis knew he romanticised things a lot, and this felt a bit like a wake-up call. Things weren't always romantic, and this had been the perfect example of that.

Harry suddenly giggled—actually  _giggled_ —and blushed deeply, leaning his forehead on Louis' shoulder while muttering a small, "Oops." There wasn't a single trace of regret in his voice, although it was difficult for Louis to determine whether that was because he was drunk or genuinely didn't regret kissing Louis.

What was going to happen now? What if Harry wasn't going to have any recollection of it happening in the morning? Was Louis just supposed to pretend like he hadn't taken Louis' first kiss?

Why did everything always have to be so confusing all the time?

With a small sigh, Louis decided they could figure it out tomorrow, whatever 'it' exactly was. For now, the bubble they were in was good enough for both of them, with Harry's forehead on his shoulder and his hand in Harry's curls.

Louis just hoped it wasn't going to come with any regret.


	13. thirteen.

 

𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟

 

Despite going to bed far into the am, Louis woke up early. The first thing he had noticed when he woke up was Harry's arm around his waist. Harry was beside him in the bed, spread out on his stomach with his face pushed into the pillow. It was a bit cute, to see Harry's facepaint completely smudged over his face, staining his curls and even the pillowcase.

Louis had laid on his back for a while, allowing Harry to hold him (well, sort of) even though he was getting a bit restless from just lying there. It didn't take very long for him to remember the kiss from last night, and when he did, his cheeks heated up at the memory. It had happened so quickly, so casually, as if kissing someone wasn't such a big deal. Who knows, maybe in Harry's life, it wasn't, but to Louis, it was. It had been a simple kiss that had hardly lasted a second, but it had been enough for it to be Louis' first.

Now, it wasn't like it bothered him, that he'd lost his first kiss like that. He was going to kiss so many times again, so what did the first actually matter? The whole problem was that it had happened with Harry, who Louis had told he didn't want to date and just wanted to stay friends with. He was sending Harry some very mixed signals. His own heart and brain were sending him mixed signals, so how was he going to make any sense of his own feelings before he would end up hurting Harry?

Had it only been that simple peck and nothing more, Louis could've told Harry he had just misread the situation and that Louis hadn't meant what he had said at all. It would've been brutal, but at least it would've been resolved. The problem was that they had nearly kissed two times prior to that already. Once in the bathroom when Michael had walked in, and a second time when Niall had separated the two of them. If Louis were to tell Harry that their kiss had been a misinterpretation of the moment, it would be the very epitome of mixed signals, and frankly, a complete lie. It was safe to say that they had managed to get themselves into a bit of a situation.

When Louis got downstairs after washing his face and getting rid of the makeup that had managed to stay on, he had the desire to throw up at the pungent smell of alcohol hanging in the air. The first thing he did was open almost all of the windows to let the house air out a bit, focusing on cleaning up all the plastic cups and other trash afterwards. He grabbed a roll of trash bags, ripping one off and getting to work with a sigh, hoping that it would take his mind off the typhoon of thoughts in his head.

It was a good thirty minutes later when Louis heard footsteps and Barbara and Niall walked into the room. "Oh, Louis, why didn't you wake me! You don't need to clean all of this on your own," Barbara immediately said when she saw him, crossing the room to grab a trash bag as well.

"It's fine," Louis reassured, flashing a smile. "Couldn't sleep anymore anyway, so."

It wasn't a lie, not entirely. He was exhausted, so sleeping was definitely something he ought himself possible of doing at the moment, but it was the part where he had been beside Harry that had made it very difficult for him to fall asleep again. Not that Barbara needed to know that.

"How long have you been up for?" Niall asked, lazily grabbing a pillow off the floor and tossing it on the couch without much care for where it landed.

"About a half hour," Louis replied. "What time is it?"

"Like, nine am," Barbara said, making a disgusted sound as she picked up a plastic plate with stale crisps, shoving it into the trash bag without looking at it for too long. She paused for a moment, turning to Louis. "Hey, also, sorry for last night with Harry. He didn't give you too much trouble, did he? He just always has to insist on going too far."

Louis remembered the kiss again and turned his face away from the couple, picking up a plastic cup and mumbling a small, "It's fine."

"So he didn't try anything?" Niall asked, clearly trying to dig up whatever Louis was trying to hide.

The thing was that Harry  _had_  tried something, and he had succeeded too. Jesus. "No, he didn't," Louis said. "I mean, he—nothing, nevermind, 's'not that important."

"What? What happened?" Barbara asked, walking over to him and grabbing his chin, inspecting his face as if she was looking for some sort of physical evidence on Louis. "He didn't force anything on you, did he?"

"Jesus, B, no," Louis said, pulling himself loose. He was a bit irritated at the fact that the other two just always assumed the worst when it came to Harry. Yeah, the guy was a bit troubled in certain areas, but that didn't mean he was such a bad person as they were always insinuating he was. "He said something about being a fuck up, but that's it. And he probably said that because he was drunk, so."

Barbara and Niall exchanged glances, their faces unreadable to Louis, who hadn't missed the interaction. "Yeah," Barbara said, forcing on a tight-lipped smile. "Just drunk. You're right."

Before Louis could ask what their exchange had meant, Luke walked into the room, followed by a rather dead-looking Harry. The very sight of him caused Louis' heart to jump, and he quickly averted his gaze, suddenly very focused on his cleaning duties. From the way Barbara looked at him, he could tell she hadn't missed his sudden change in mood.

"Morning," Niall said, cocking an eyebrow at Harry, who plopped down on the couch on his back, putting an arm over his eyes. His face was clean of any facepaint, meaning he must've washed it off not too long ago.

"Please don't yell," he muttered, his voice rough from fatigue. "Feel like my head's about to split open."

"He wasn't yelling," Luke pointed out, before turning to the others again. Louis ignored the odd pit in his stomach when he saw the fond look in Luke's eyes. "Liam's coming down in a bit, he's saying goodbye to a bird he shagged last night."

"Remind me to have Renee change all the sheats in the house," Barbara said, crinkling her nose. "Also, don't call ladies 'birds'. It's rude."

Luke held up his hands in mock defence, sitting down in one of the armchairs. "Yes, ma'am," he said, earning himself a smack on the back of the head from Niall, who gave him a warning look.

With a small smile at Niall's protective behaviour, Louis lightly tugged Barbara's sleeve. "Who's Renee?" he quietly asked once she looked at him.

"Our maid," she explained. "She cleans our house two times a week. Should be here any minute. I could have her fix up breakfast for us?"

"Not for me, I might throw up," Harry grumbled, his eyes still hiding behind his arm.

"For the others?" Barbara asked, earning a couple of hums of approval from the rest. Louis didn't say anything, as he still couldn't get breakfast down his throat. Barbara scoffed at the replies and shook her head. "Men."

A little over ten minutes later, Renee arrived at the house and had seemed surprised when Louis had introduced himself to her, presumably used to just being ignored. Louis didn't agree with that: maid or not, she was still a person and deserved to be treated as one. He had explained to her that he and the others had cleaned up most of the mess and that all she had to do was hoover and mop the house (" _And clean the sheets. That's probably the most important._ ").

Liam joined them just as Renee had prepared breakfast for them, sitting down at the unnecessarily big table beside Louis with a suspiciously relaxed vibe.

"You had a good night, Payno?" Niall said with a teasing grin.

Liam grinned smugly, shrugging a little as he grabbed a piece of toast. "Very."

"Do you even know her name?" Barbara asked him, taking a sip from her tea.

"Don't know. Sophie or summat?" Liam said, shrugging again. "Whatever. Not like I'm seeing her again anyway."

It was nearly impressive to Louis, how easygoing they were about sex. One-night stands weren't just a Hollywood phenomenon, then. He wondered if he could be the same way about it, to just have sex and then never think about the person again. He was probably too romantic for it.

"Tell that to the phone number on your arm," Harry muttered, tastelessly poking at the scrambled eggs on his plate. He was sitting across Louis, who was doing everything in his power not to stare at him. It was difficult when Harry insisted on still looking hot, despite sporting messed up curls and heavy bags under his eyes as if he hadn't slept in the last thirty years.

Liam looked at his arm and snorted. "Oh, shit," he said. "Didn't know it was like that for her."

"It's the oxytocin, innit?" Louis casually said. It took a couple of seconds for him to realise that the table had fallen silent and everyone was now staring at him.

"The what?" Luke asked, furrowing his brows together in confusion.

"The... the oxytocin," Louis repeated, feeling his cheeks heat up a little. "It's a chemical? You get it after sex. Women more than men, it's why they get attached quicker."

He started becoming gradually more uncomfortable under the penetrating, dumbfounded stares from the others. To him, it wasn't that impressive to know: if anything, he thought it was a rather well-known fact. "It's kind of like a drug, I guess? It makes you crave bonding, and if you don't get that, it makes you anxious and irritable. It also makes it feel like you have a connection with someone, but, in reality, it's just the chemicals."

After a couple of seconds, Harry psh-ed, something between a scoff and a sigh that seemed impressed. "How do you even know all that?" he asked, forcing Louis to make eye-contact with him.

"I read it somewhere," he said, hoping that it didn't make him sound like that much of a nerd. "Guess I just remembered."

"'Just remembered'," Luke mocked, making bunny ears with his fingers. "What, you just read about sex chemicals a lot, then?"

Harry glared at him. "Fuck off, yeah? Leave him alone."

The air changed at Harry's sudden snap, everyone surprised by his sudden outburst, even more so because it was directed at Luke.

"He's just giving a fact, yeah? Don't got to make fun of him for it," he continued, and on a complete whim, Louis stretched his leg out and nudged his foot against the side of Harry's shin. He ignored the jump of his own heart and rubbed his foot up and down a bit as if he was trying to calm Harry down.

After a couple of tense seconds in which Louis wondered if maybe  _he_  had misread the situation, Harry slowly slid his leg forwards and allowed Louis to hook his foot behind his ankle. Louis bit his lip to try and keep a smile down.

"I actually don't," he said, suddenly feeling a lot braver after his move on Harry worked, meeting Luke's eyes and not planning on backing down. The guy clearly seemed to have it out for him that morning, but that didn't mean that Louis had to take it. "Read about sex chemicals, I mean. I just like to expand my knowledge of the human brain. You should try it sometime, might make you seem more interesting."

A couple of snorts and chuckles scattered over the table, and instinctively, Louis found himself checking if Harry had laughed as well. Much to Louis' satisfaction, he was trying to hide a grin behind his hand, biting his lip as his shoulders shook with silent laughter.

"Clever," Luke bitterly said, looking away with a displeased expression, clearly not too happy with Louis taking a dig at him.

"Come on, don't be like that," Liam said with an amused grin, patting Louis' shoulder. "I thought it was pretty good."

Louis didn't say anything else and focused on his tea instead, trying not to smile when Harry's foot started rubbing up and down his shin. From the way Harry was staring at his plate, he seemed to try and play it off like Louis was doing. They probably weren't doing the best job of it.

And Louis was once again reminded that he was really digging his own grave by doing these type of things with and to Harry.

Louis' phone suddenly started ringing, earning himself all the attention once again as he fished it out of his pocket. The screen told him it was his father, and his heart instantly sank at the sight, knowing he was in for nothing good. Reluctantly, he picked up.

"Hi," he quietly said, refusing to address his father as exactly that. Not because he was in front of the others, but mostly because he didn't really want to give his father that type of privilege, no matter how rude that actually seemed.

" _Where are you?_ " was the first thing his father said, no 'hi' or 'good morning' back.

Louis stared at the table, aware that everyone was staring and listening in on the conversation. "At a friend's place."

" _What friend_?" His father said. " _You're coming home right now, you hear me?_ "

"Why?" Louis said, chewing on his lip as his nerves started spiking.

" _Because I said so! You want me to show you what happens if you don't listen?!_ " His father suddenly yelled. Louis felt the tension thick in the air, knowing that everyone had just heard what his father had said.

He abruptly shoved his chair back and left the room, ignoring the sudden cold he felt where Harry's foot had previously been. "I can't just leave right now," he said, aware that his protests probably wouldn't make a difference.

" _I don't care, you're coming home right now!_ " His father said, his voice filled with anger. " _Your mother and I were worried sick!_ "

"I told you where I was going," Louis fruitlessly said.

" _Don't you dare talk back to me! You should learn—_ "

Louis hung up the phone, shoving it back into his pocket. "To have some respect, I get it," he muttered to himself, knowing he had really messed up this time. He was in for something when he'd get home later.

With that knowledge, Louis returned to his friends and didn't make eye contact with anyone as he sat down. He didn't explain either, knowing it would only result in a lot of pity he neither wanted nor needed.

Thankfully, Barbara started up a conversation and made sure that there weren't any awkward silences or inquiring questions directed at Louis about his private life. She might not know about the situations at home, but at least she could see he didn't want it out in the open.

Harry, who knew to a certain extent, had offered him a small smile and had hooked their ankles together again. Later, when Louis had left, he had kissed his cheek when the others weren't looking, mumbling that Louis should call him later.

Louis had gone home with a tinge of guilt.

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

The bruises were big this time. Bigger than the others Louis had received before. One on his side right under his ribs, and another one on the side of his thigh, also of equal size. There was also a red cheek that had joined, which Louis knew probably wasn't going to turn into a bruise. It had been a slap with a flat hand, those never bruised. His lower back hurt too, although he couldn't actually see any physical evidence of a punch there.

After he had arrived home, his father had been more than little angry, completely furious about a multitude of things that Louis couldn't even remember half of. His mother hadn't been home, which had meant that there had been no one around to stop his father from getting physical.

That had happened around ten am, and it was now already five in the afternoon. Louis had yet to call Harry, who had yet to call him either and had simply been drawing all day.

Two faceless figures yelling at each other, hands balled into fists and strong eyebrows furrowed together. He had drawn it in such a way that their bodies were created from the same line, trying to portray some sort of connection between the of them. In the most literal form, it could be a bloodline.

The second drawing was of two skeletons, a dove flying above them. A third drawing was of two boys that looked a suspicious amount like Louis and Harry, their lips close to kissing but apart just far enough to stay separated, nine roses weaved around them, thorns pricking the skin and drawing blood but not disturbing the couple.

Louis' inspection of his bruises was interrupted by the sound of his phone buzzing. He dropped his shirt, straightening it out before walking over to his phone on his desk, his heart jumping when he saw that Harry had texted him. It was almost childish, the reactions he had to anything that had to do with Harry.

The message, however, was rather heartbreaking and made Louis feel like he was drowning with guilt.

**_i'm sorry if i took_ **  
**_advantage of you last night_ **  
**_never meant to hurt you_ **

Louis couldn't reply any quicker even if he had wanted to.

**You didn't take advantage**  
**Wanted it too, didn't I?**

For some reason, Harry read the text but didn't reply. Trying not to needlessly stress himself out, Louis put his phone down and attempted to distract himself from wondering why Harry hadn't replied. It was probably nothing.

Right as he went to walk away, Louis' phone buzzed again. This time, Harry had sent him a link to Spotify, and when Louis tapped on it, found himself looking at a playlist called 'Sad But Still Rad', making him laugh at the odd title. The very first song in the playlist was 'Like I Do' by David Guetta, the song that had been playing when they had almost kissed. Did that mean that Harry didn't remember their actual kiss? What the hell was that text about taking advantage all about, then?

As he read the rest of the titles, it became apparent to Louis that all of the songs were love songs.

**Harry?**

**_yea_ **

**Remember the third chance thing?**

Instead of replying via text, Harry called Louis, who picked up with a small smile. "You remember I hate calling?"

" _I know, why do you think I do it?_ " Harry said, a grin pretty much audible in his voice. " _I just, you know, wanted to ask you something_."

Louis huffed out a small breath and bit his lip to try and stop a wide smile from spreading over his face. "Did you, then?" he asked, playing along while his heart rate picked up considerably.

" _Yeah. Wanted to ask if you wanted to go on a date with me, sometime?_ " Harry asked, and despite already knowing the answer, Louis still noticed that Harry sounded nervous, which was enough for him to know that he was making the right decision when he said, "I'd like that, yeah."

Harry released a small breath, probably not meant for Louis' ears but still audible enough. " _Jesus, that's a fucking relief. I thought you'd, like, forgotten what you said last night._ "

It meant that Harry definitely remembered last night, which was a relief for Louis. There seemed to be a lot of relief between the two of them. "You remember, then?" he asked softly, afraid that he might come over as regretful.

" _Yeah_ ," Harry breathed out. " _It's why I texted you, didn't I?_ "

There was a small silence.

" _You don't regret it, right?_ "

"No," Louis decidedly said, shaking his head even though Harry couldn't see it. "You should know, though, that it was, like, my first, so."

There was another silence. " _Please tell me you're kidding,_ " Harry muttered, sighing deeply. " _Jesus, I'm sorry for that, then. Not the best first one, huh?_ "

Louis shrugged, before remembering that  _oh, right, phone_. "Guess the second one has to be pretty phenomenal, then," he said, which was the last thing he had intended to escape from his mouth. It seemed there was a big communication problem between his brain and vocal cords.

He could hear Harry's sharp intake of air at his words and suddenly didn't regret them anymore. " _Fuck, okay, that's—_ " Harry let go of a breathy laugh— " _are you doing this on purpose?_ "

"Doing what?"

" _Driving me fucking mental?_ "

Louis laughed, flinching when his stomach hurt from the accidentally forgotten bruise. He took a couple of breaths to get the pain to disappear. "If I'd send you a nude, how mental would that drive you?"

" _I'd spontaneously combust, probably_ ," Harry said, his words confident but his tone of voice a lot shakier than he was trying to play off. Louis knew he was riling him up, but he couldn't really get himself to stop. The thought of Harry being sexually frustrated because of him was rather... exciting, to say the least.

"What if I'd moan right now, how would you react?" he said, relishing in the complete frustration he heard on the other side.

" _Yeah, I'm going to hang up now,_ " Harry said, and Louis chuckled.

"Okay. Sorry for riling you up."

" _You didn't rile me up_."

"Sure."

" _You're fucking insufferable_ ," Harry said with a small laugh, adding a soft sigh. " _Fucking' hell_." There was some ruffling on the other side, and Louis knew better than to imagine what was going on. " _Hey, listen, reckon I can come over tomorrow?_ "

"Yes," Louis replied maybe a bit too quickly.

When Harry chuckled, Louis knew he had noticed the eagerness. " _Cool. I'll be around at, like, late_ ," he vaguely said, making Louis chuckle. " _I'll see you tomorrow, then, yeah?_ "

"Yeah. See you."

" _Bye, love_."

A minute or so after Harry had hung up, it started sinking in what Louis had just done. He had made continuous sexual innuendos to Harry, which meant that he had shown more than a little bit of interest in that particular area. The whole problem, however, was that he didn't want to have sex. Not yet, at least. He wasn't ready for it.

The idea made him uncomfortable, and frankly, he was more than a little convinced that he would suck at it. Innuendo definitely  _not_  implied, thank you very much.

But to Harry, he had voiced something entirely different. If anything, he had made it seem like it was what he specifically wanted, which wasn't the case at all, not by a long shot.

So, after fifteen minutes of internal panic, Louis called Barbara. When in doubt, call your best friend, right?

" _Hi, Lou_ ," Barbara said, sounding a bit surprised.

Louis then realised he had never called her first before. He didn't dwell on it for too long. "Hey," he said. "Uhm, listen. I need your help. Or, advice, rather."

" _Okay, spill, what's up?_ " Barbara casually asked, unaware of what she was about to get dragged into by Louis.

"So, don't, like, laugh, but Harry is coming over tomorrow," he said, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "And I might've made it seem like I wanted to have sex with him."

There was a small silence, Barbara clearly taken aback by Louis' words. " _I—okay, uhm. Just, first of all, I thought you didn't like Harry?_ "

"I do like him, we talked about this already, didn't we? You're the one who pointed it out in the first place."

" _Yeah, I know that I just meant, like—I thought you were done with him?"_

Louis sighed and fell back on the bed, his gaze on the ceiling. "I thought the same," he mumbled. "Just—he's coming over tomorrow, and he probably wants to have sex with me but I don't think I'm ready for it."

" _Then you tell him 'no'?_ " Barbara said, sounding a bit confused.

"I can't just rile him up and then tell him 'no' when it comes down to it!"

" _Yes, you can, that's literally how consent works_ ," Barbara said, sounding more and more bewildered by the minute. " _Also, I thought you guys didn't even kiss yet? Don't you have to kiss before you dive straight into sex?_ "

Oh, right. Louis hadn't told her yet. He sighed awkwardly. "Yeah, about that," he mumbled.

" _It happened last night, right?_ "

"How did you...?"

" _Well, Harry's hair was covered in the makeup I put on you, for starters_ ," Barbara said, and Louis blushed deeply because he hadn't even noticed that this morning. " _And, you know. You were acting off. And Harry was super sappy towards you, so. I just kind of figured_."

Louis didn't say anything, wondering if the others had noticed too.

" _Is he a good kisser, though?_ "

Now he laughed and shook his head in amusement. "It was a peck, nothing more. Literally."

_"So, you haven't even made out yet, but you think he's already expecting sex from you?"_ Barbara asked, sounding genuinely confused and even a bit worried _. "I don't understand, Louis?"_

At a loss for a reply, Louis sighed. He understood what she meant. He wasn't making much sense lately, to anyone, and he was creating problems that probably weren't even there in the first place. "I don't think I do either."

" _Aw, babes,_ " Barbara sympathetically said, adding a small chuckle. " _What's really going on? 'Cause it can't just be this. You can tell me anything, you know that, right?_ "

Louis thought about it for a moment, knowing that there were a lot of things he wasn't telling her. The pulsing bruises scattered over his body were a good reminder of that. "I guess I'm just afraid I'll, like, let him down, or summat," he quietly said, rolling over onto stomach. "I mean, you guys are used to,like, _everything_. Especially Harry, I think. He's used to drinking, to drugs, to sex, God knows how many relationships he's been in, and he knows how to really live. I'm just afraid he'll see how 'inexperienced' I am and think I'm dull and then ditch me."

"... _You said you wanted my advice, right?_ " Barbara asked, her voice thoughtful and a lot more serious than before. Louis hummed in reply. " _I'm going to say something, and it's going to sound pretty brutal, but I mean it in the best way possible; if this is really how you think Harry is going to be, you shouldn't even bother with trying to date him_."

Louis kept silent, waiting for her to continue.

" _It's just—you can't have a relationship if one of you is uncomfortable. I mean, how do you expect to be happy with him if you can't even get yourself to discuss things like that?_ " Barbara said. " _You have to say what you mean and mean what you say. Express how you're feeling and don't ever apologise for being real. Be honest, you know? Brutally honest. That's what maintains a relationship. And guess what? If Harry can't handle that, he was never worth it anyway_."

Taking a deep breath, Louis willed the tears in his eyes to disappear. "Thank you, B," he hoarsely said. "That means a lot."

" _Of course, babes,_ " Barbara said, the smile in her voice audible. " _You feeling better?_ "

"Yeah," Louis said, letting go of a breath. Oddly enough, it felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He felt lighter. "You know a lot about this stuff."

Barbara chuckled airily. " _Well, yeah, if you've been dating someone like Niall for eight months straight you learn about the difficult stuff pretty quickly_."

"Did you have a lot of difficult times?" Louis asked, realising he had never asked anything about their relationship before. The least he could do was show some interest after Barbara had endured his dramatic rant.

" _A couple of rough spots, but every relationship has that_ ," Barbara said, and Louis could practically see the fond smile she was undoubtedly wearing right now. " _Niall's sweet, though. Always made sure we worked out_."

Louis smiled, wondering if Harry would be the same. Jesus, he was getting ahead of himself; a single kiss didn't assure a future relationship. Date first, probably. Yeah.

"Do your parents approve of it?" He asked, not really aware that his question could come over as rude. "I mean, Niall's not exactly... you know."

Barbara laughed. " _Yeah, I know what you mean_ ," she said. " _But they love him. Had a bit of trouble getting used to his appearance, but he has them completely wrapped around his finger. He's the type of boyfriend that if we would ever break up—and I pray to God we don't—my parents would still invite him over for Christmas, you know?"_

_"_ They like him that much?" Louis asked, grinning as Barbara hummed. "Mine would be a lot less accepting of Harry."

" _You don't know that_."

"I do, though. My dad saw him a couple weeks ago and lost it, calling him a drug dealer and all that," Louis said, furrowing his brows together at the memory, and not just because of what his father had said, but what he had  _done_. "I pretended like I didn't know Harry, even though he walked me home. He had to play along, too."

Barbara scoffed in disbelief, Louis agreeing. " _No offence, Lou, but your dad sounds like a prick_."

Now it was Louis' turn to scoff. "Tell me about it."

They spend the rest of the night talking on the phone, eventually switching to FaceTime because Barbara wanted to show Louis her new Kylie Lip Kit in the shade Angel (Louis had pretended like he had known what it meant). It had kept his mind off Harry, however, who immediately returned to his thoughts as soon as the call ended. It was for that reason that it took a while for Louis to fall asleep, the butterflies in his stomach making it difficult to relax enough for sleep to take hold of him.

The very thought of Harry coming over tomorrow and being alone in a room with him was nerve-wracking to Louis. There were endless outcomes of what tomorrow was going to bring, and Louis was already nervous enough about the fact that Harry hadn't given a specific time, meaning he could show up at any point in the day that he ought 'late'.

Louis just really, really hoped he wasn't going to regret this. He was done with feeling regret.


	14. fourteen.

 

𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟

 

 ** _hey_**  
**_ill be around at_**  
**_eight/nine x_ **

**You have to climb**  
**through the window,**  
**parents are home**

**_kinky_ **

**??? No?!?!**

**_;)))))_ **

 

It was safe to say that the entire day had Louis battling his nerves and the butterflies in his stomach. The very thought of Harry made his stomach flip, and the prospect of him coming over did nothing to calm him nor the butterflies. For some reason, the very thought of being around Harry was enough to send a tsunami of emotions to Louis, who wasn't at all used to it and hadn't quite figured out a way to cope with it yet.

In an attempt to try and distract himself, Louis decided to help his mother with dinner; by helping, he meant staying out of her way and watching her cut vegetables. Frankly, he wasn't the most impressive cook. He did, however, like to spend time with his mother, who didn't seem to mind him hanging around either.

"What's for dinner?" He asked, leaning his forearms on the island in the middle of the kitchen.

"Moussaka," his mother answered. She was cutting up what Louis assumed to be courgette, but he honestly wasn't sure.

He nodded, swallowing thickly. It was the perfect opportunity to... dig a little if you will. Find out if his mother knew about the hidden sibling—well, half-sibling. All he had to do, was ease into it. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

Louis bit his lip, waiting for a moment. "Why don't I have any siblings?"

His mother smiled as if Louis had just made a funny joke. "Because we were more than happy with just you, sweetheart."

"So I wasn't an accident?" Louis asked, losing any and all subtlety when he added: "and I don't have any step-siblings either?"

"You weren't an accident, Louis, you were planned," his mother said, putting the knife down and looking at him with a small frown. "And why would you have step-siblings, sweetheart?"

Louis shrugged, looking down at his hands and turning an invisible ring on his ring finger. So she didn't know about the hidden step-sibling, then. His father was a fucking liar. "Don't know. Not sure why I asked."

His mother walked over, putting a hand on his arm with a concerned look in her eyes, something Louis would've liked to avoid. Concern was the last thing he wanted her to feel about him. "What's going on, sweetheart? Why all the questions all of a sudden? Something you want to tell me?"

Louis knew he had to lie. He couldn't just  _tell_  her about what was one of the biggest secrets a person could possibly keep. "Bit lonely, sometimes," he mumbled, which wasn't a lie in its entirety. He used to be pretty lonely, not having any brothers or sisters to turn to, but his sudden new friend group had got rid of that loneliness entirely. There were friends in his life now. Even somebody who was more than a friend.

"What about your friends? What was that girl's name, Barbara? They make you less lonely, don't they?" His mother asked, and Louis put on a smile, nodding.

"They do. The other one was Niall, by the way," he said, smiling just a bit wider when he added, quietly, "and Harry."

He glanced up and noticed his mother's frown deepening, her hand leaving his arm. "I don't think I know Harry," she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"You haven't met him," Louis said, wondering where the sudden hostility had come from. "He's nice, though. He understands me, sort of."

"Do you like him?" His mother asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Louis quickly shook his head. Not the time to come out of the closet, Tomlinson, not the time. It wasn't like his mother would actually understand anyway. "No, Jesus, why would I?"

"Okay, don't worry," his mum said, smiling again. "Can never be sure. Sexualities differ."

With a shrug, Louis straightened up again. "Is it okay if I eat up in my room?" He asked, smiling when his mother nodded with a slightly confused look, happy to have successfully changed the subject. "Cool."

Before he could walk over to the cabinets to set the table for his parents, his mother grabbed his arm and smiled, her expression suddenly a bit emotional. "I'm happy that you have friends, Louis," she said. "They've really brought you out of your shell. I haven't heard you talk this much in years."

With a jolt, Louis realised she was right. He was talking a lot lately, more than he had in years. It was mostly because of Harry, he was convinced of that. The same Harry who was going to climb through his window and possibly, maybe, hopefully, kiss him again in little over an hour. Well, if he could muster up the courage, of course.

A little over an hour was also what it took for his mum to finish dinner. After grabbing a plate and immediately going to his room with the excuse that he wanted to give his parents some sort of a date night (as if that would fix anything), Louis had closed his door and had put a shoe under the small gap between the wood and the floor to prevent it from opening. Or, really hinder it, at the very least.

As if clockwork, there was a knock on his window as soon as Louis straightened up. His heart jumped in excitement at the sound, and when he turned around it started beating faster the moment he laid eyes on Harry. The window squeaked a little when he slid it up, allowing Harry to climb inside and bring a cold gust of wind with him.

A smug smirk was the first thing Louis received. "Hi," Harry said, standing close and forcing Louis to look up even more than usual.

He was a bit speechless at the fact that Harry was there, and he was wearing that stupid smirk that had Louis' mouth dry. He knew he had to say something, however, so he forced his mouth to open. "Very Romeo and Juliet," was the first thing he said, and immediately, his cheeks turned a light pink from embarrassment.

"Innit?" Harry said, his smirk widening when he noticed how nervous Louis was, but the latter noticed the same thing about him. His hands were trembling a bit. "What were you doing just now?"

"Uh," Louis said, glancing at the door and happy to have a reason to look away for a second before he found himself drawn to Harry's gaze again. "Blocking the door with my shoe."

"You need a lock," Harry pointed out, glancing at the door too.

"I do."

And then it got quiet, and Louis realised he really didn't have much to talk about all of a sudden. The conversation starters he had googled earlier that day had suddenly vanished from his brain, and only the dumb ones had managed to stay (' _Did you know slugs have four noses?'_ ). Thankfully, it was Harry who spoke up again.

"Before I forget," he said, suddenly reaching into his pocket and carefully retreating his hand, a flower now lightly grasped between his fingers. It was a bit wilted and looked on the brink of death, but it made Louis smile nonetheless as he allowed Harry to place it in his hand, their skin lightly touching.

"A flower?" He asked. It took a second, but then he finally recognised it and met Harry's eyes with an excited grin. "It's the one I drew when we first met."

Harry smiled brightly and nodded, his eyes glimmering. "Yeah," he said. "I went back to that bench, see if I could find any. Was one of the only ones left."

"Gloxinia, right?"

Harry nodded again. " _Sinningia speciosa,_ " he said. He cleared his throat. "I thought—you know, I'd use it to, like, show you that I remember?" He said, scratching the back of his neck. "And that I'm serious about this third chance?"

There wasn't a single trace in his face that told Louis he was lying. In fact, it was so sincere, that Louis found himself speechless yet again.

"I still have the drawing too, by the way," Harry said. "Never got the chance to give it to mum, so. That's why. I also really fucking like it."

 _I really fucking like you_  was what shot through Louis' mind right afterwards, but he didn't want to say that yet. Instead, completely caught up in the moment, he stood up on his toes and pressed his lips to Harry who froze in surprise. Before the latter could kiss back, Louis pulled back again, keeping it at a simple peck and smiling shyly. His heart was hammering in his chest and his cheeks were flaming, but at least he was proud of himself.

"Feel like you kind of owed me that from the other night," he said. When Harry grinned, Louis knew he had made the right call. He stepped back, putting the flower on his desk near the wall for safekeeping, knowing he had to press it tomorrow would he want to keep it pretty.

Harry slipped past him, far too close than necessary, and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over Louis' chair. "What are you eating?" He asked, glancing at the plate on Louis' desk.

"Moussaka," Louis answered, adding a small shrug. "You can have it if you want. I'm not hungry."

There was no way he was going to admit that he actually was a little hungry, but that he just couldn't get a single bite down with Harry in the same room. He was far too on edge for that.

But he did initiate a kiss, so suck it, insecurities.

"We'll share," Harry decided, walking over to Louis again and glancing at the desk. His eyebrows rose when he apparently saw something rather surprising. "Depressing thing to draw," he said, and when Louis followed his line of vision, found that his journal was opened on one of his latest drawings. It was the one with the two faceless figures in a fight, connected by a 'bloodline'.

At least it wasn't opened on the drawing of him and Harry. Wait, no, the drawing that looked like him and Harry, but obviously wasn't actually them. Obviously.

As a reply, Louis only shrugged, keeping his eyes trained on the paper.

"Is it your parents?" Harry asked. Louis shrugged again.

"Partly," he said. "'S'why they're faceless. Don't have to be anyone, could be everyone."

He met Harry's eyes again and found the latter smiling fondly. "You don't make sense sometimes," he said. "But I don't mind it all that much."

"I make sense," Louis said with a small frown.

"Most of the time," Harry said, his smile turning into a teasing grin. "But you can be really fucking confusing when you want to be."

"When?"

"When you said you wanted to be just friends but still allowed me to kiss you," Harry said, taking a step closer and causing Louis to take one back, his back hitting the desk and his hands gripping the edge to steady himself. "And then you kiss me but turn away right after. Pretty confusing, if you ask me."

Louis bit his lip, highly aware of what was going to happen in a couple of moments. "Maybe I'm just waiting for you to make a move," he mumbled, his breathing picking up when Harry glanced at his lips and stepped even closer.

He met Louis' eyes again, his hands landing on Louis' waist. "Can I kiss you?"

For some reason, asking for consent, actually  _asking_ , was stupidly enticing to Louis. It was a whole lot better than the other night when Harry had just gone in without a single warning. Then again, so had Louis just now.

He nodded weakly, swallowing thickly and putting a hand on Harry's bicep, his mind losing all coherent thoughts when Harry leaned in because  _holy fucking fuck it was happening_. One of Harry's hands moved to his cheek, his thumb rubbing over Louis' cheekbone before he finally closed the small gap and pressed their lips together right as Louis remembered that he had no clue how to kiss—but he immediately forgot that again because, well... it was difficult to think when weeks of sexual tension was suddenly addressed.

Although, it wasn't like in the movies or books at all. There wasn't intense music blasting in Louis' head, there were no fireworks exploding or angels singing.

No, it was much better than that, just not like the books described. The world simply fell away, leaving only the two of them in Louis' messy bedroom, pressed against the desk. The kiss was slow and soft, comforting in ways words could never be and Louis' drawings could never depict.

It was quiet around them, the only sound that of the wind outside and their kiss, but Louis' ears weren't really working anymore. Not that the sounds around them mattered much anyway.

Louis grabbed the hem of Harry's sweater and pulled him closer, allowing Harry to press completely against him and for Louis to feel his hammering heart, a similar pace to his own. He put his other hand on the back of Harry's head, deepening the kiss by parting his lips.

It was nearly overwhelming, how a thing as simple as a kiss could feel so intense, and so trusted. A part inside Louis knew he could keep doing this for hours on end and never get bored, slow strokes of lips against lips with intermingling breaths and clutching hands.

It stopped abruptly when Harry suddenly pulled back, his forehead pressed against Louis' and his eyes squeezed shut. Almost as if he was focusing on something, his brows were furrowed together, his breath quickened just like Louis'.

"What's wrong?" Louis asked breathlessly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Nothing," Harry said, exhaling shakily. His grip on Louis' waist tightened a little, almost as if he was trying to make sure Louis was really there. "Just—kind of been waiting for this for a while now."

"Then why'd you stop?"

"Don't want to fuck it up."

Louis kissed him again, much deeper and more passionate than before, putting more of a rush behind it before he abruptly pulled back. "I'm the one who should be concerned. This is technically my first."

A grin took over Harry's features as he stared into Louis' eyes, his gaze intense. "It's just going to be downgrading from here on out, then," he said. "Nobody kisses as well as I do."

"Don't know, Barbara said Niall's pretty good too, maybe I should try it with him," Louis said, hooking his foot behind Harry's ankle. "I bet you're terrible compared to him."

"Fucking shut up already," Harry breathed out with a laugh hidden in his voice before he crushed his lips against Louis' again. This time, the word slow was nowhere near close to describing their kiss. It was hot and passionate and hungry, Louis tangling his fingers in Harry's curls as if it could physically ground him.

Their bodies moulded together, Louis wrapping his other arm around Harry's neck and pulling himself as close as he physically could. When Harry swiped his tongue over Louis' lower lip, the latter had a brief moment of panic because French kissing had been something he hadn't even considered before, yet it was about to happen. He parted his lips and the panic vanished almost instantly when their tongues touched.

It was electrifying and caused Louis to breathe out a bit heavier through his nose, lust flooding his body. It was a fiery and hungry kiss that had his body responding in more ways than one, although he couldn't get himself to worry about it. The previous fear and adversity he had towards any sort of sexual intimacy were gone. Instead, he found himself wanting to continue.

So when Harry's hands started travelling over Louis' body, he didn't do anything to stop it. One hand slipped under his shirt and rested on his lower back which now felt as if it was on fire (and ached from where his father had hit him, but Louis tried not to focus on that). The other hand travelled lower and lower, and when Louis didn't stop it, momentarily rested on his bum before it continued further down and suddenly grasped the bottom of Louis' thigh. His leg was pulled up and Louis automatically wrapped it around Harry's waist, ignoring the pain he felt from the pressure on the bruise there and aware that their groins were now lined up.

Harry's hand rubbed up and down the bottom of his thigh, creating a strong sense of heat and desire within Louis who couldn't even think straight anymore, his mind a complete, throbbing mess.

Harry's other hand suddenly grabbed Louis' other leg and pulled it up as well, carrying Louis for a moment before setting him down on the edge of the desk, simultaneously stepping forward and positioning himself between Louis' legs, which automatically wrapped around his waist. One of his hands slowly slid up Louis' leg and under his shirt, moving halfway up his torso and causing for the shirt to ride up, exposing Louis' skin—and with a jolt of fear, Louis realised that his bruise there was now exposed as well.

Harry mistook the jolt for something else, maybe a positive response to his touch and his hand slid down Louis' back, his nails lightly dragging over the skin and creating goosebumps. It was a relief for Louis, who knew the bruise was covered up again. The relief was replaced by lust when Harry's hand rested on his bum as much as the desk allowed it to, his thumb hooking under the elastic waistband from Louis' joggers.

When Harry lightly squeezed Louis' thigh, the latter couldn't help a small sound from escaping and tightened his legs around Harry's waist, accidentally causing friction between their groins and for the both of them to moan quietly. Louis really, really wanted to continue, but also knew that for that to happen, he'd have to take his clothes off, which wasn't an option. Harry couldn't see the bruises, it was as simple as that.

Suddenly, when Harry put his hand beside Louis' body on the desk, there was a loud crash from beside them. They pulled apart in surprise to find the plate that had been previously on the desk was now on the floor, the food scattered around and the actual plate in half.

"Louis?" His mother's voice suddenly called from downstairs, apparently having heard the crash.

"Shit," Louis muttered, pushing Harry back and jumping off the desk, quickly rushing over to the door and kicking the shoe away before opening it. "Yeah?" He called out, praying that his mother wasn't going to come upstairs.

"What happened? What was that sound?"

Louis closed his eyes and sighed quietly. "Just—just dropped my plate!"

"Did you hurt yourself?" His mother asked, and Louis nearly scoffed. Quite the opposite, really, if the current situation in his joggers was anything to go by. He didn't have a full erection, but... he was well on his way, to put it mildly. It was a little embarrassing, actually.

"No, I'm fine," Louis said and closed his door, loud enough for his mother to hear so she wouldn't continue talking. He leaned his back against the door after he turned around, meeting Harry's eyes and immediately stunned by what he saw.

Harry's lips were much redder and more swollen than usual, his curls even messier and his cheeks flushed. The fact that his pupils were completely blown out didn't help much either. A quick glance in the mirror told Louis that he was sporting a similar look. It was concrete evidence that what had just happened hadn't been a fever dream, something Louis was starting to consider.

All of a sudden, Harry chuckled, sounding a bit nervous and causing Louis to look at him in surprise. "Bit of a mood kill."

Louis copied his chuckles, his body suddenly flooding with relief at the fact that it wasn't uncomfortable between them now. He'd have jumped out the window if it would've been. "Weren't you the one who called it kinky?"

"I did, huh?" Harry said with a grin. He glanced at the mess on the floor, pulling a face. "Sorry 'bout your plate."

"'S'fine," Louis said, deflating a bit as he pushed himself off the door and opened it again. "Going to grab some paper towels," he said, leaving the room and finding the hallway a lot colder than his bedroom. He stayed there for a minute or so to collect himself, allowing his body to really, really calm down before he'd go downstairs and find himself in the same room as his parents.

After he ought himself presentable, Louis rushed downstairs to get a roll of paper towels, not minding his parents any attention as he searched the kitchen. They were sat on opposite ends of the couch, their postures rigid and proving that Louis had walked in on a tense moment. Not that he cared much. All it did was remind him that it was a Friday night, which meant that a big fight could be expected any minute now. At least his parents had the decency not to do it in front of him.

When he got back upstairs, he found that Harry had attempted to scrape most of the food off the floor by using both halves of the plate, which were now on his desk. "Thanks," Louis said, getting on his knees to clean up the rest.

"Did your parents say anything?" Harry asked, ripping off a couple of pieces from the paper towels to help.

Louis shook his head. "Going to fight soon, though. I could tell," he said, scoffing in disbelief. "They were acting all awkward when I got downstairs."

"At least they didn't fight in front of you, right?" Harry said, adding a rather apologetic smile.

"They do it often enough already," Louis mumbled, trying not to add to the fact that he hadn't just witnessed them, but that he had been dragged into the fights on more than one occasion as well. He'd even been on the receiving end the last few weeks if the blue and purple bruises on his body were any indication of that.

Secretly, he was glad that the 'plate incident' had occurred. If it hadn't, he'd have to have come up with a reason why he didn't want to have sex with Harry, despite being more than a little interested, if his physical response had been anything to go by. He'd have thoroughly confused Harry, which was something the latter didn't deserve in the slightest. Louis had been stringing him along all day yesterday too so it would've been entirely unfair.

What their kiss—or rather make out—had revealed to Louis, was that he wasn't opposed to sex at all, like he had previously thought. He had been overthinking it before. Now he knew he wanted it, but the bruises prevented everything. Harry couldn't know about them, not under any circumstance, and as long as they were on Louis' body, it meant that Louis wasn't going to take off his clothes around Harry.

Which made PE a problem, would his father's beatings continue on a regular basis. Louis hoped they wouldn't.

The two halves of the plate and the rest of the food ended up in the small bin under Louis' desk. Harry and Louis ended up on the bed— _no_ , not like that, thank you very much.

Harry had just plopped down on it and Louis had followed, secretly a bit happy that Harry was so comfortable in his room, and had sat down beside him in the middle of the bed. Without so much a moment of hesitation, Harry had shuffled closer and had leaned the back of his head against Louis' thigh. Louis' heart had skipped a beat at the interaction.

"Maybe a weird question, but," Harry said, peering up at Louis who found it nearly impossible to look away from the bright green eyes, "do you want to make this an all-nighter?"

"I've never done that before," Louis admitted, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought about what it would be like if the two of them would stay up all night, just talking and laying around. Maybe even do, you know,  _more_.

"You've never pulled an all-nighter before?" Harry asked in surprise. Louis shook his head. "Then this is going to be your first."

"You just decide that for me, do you?" Louis sarcastically said, grinning down at Harry who returned it.

"What are you going to do about it?"

He'd have kissed Harry again, had it not been for their position. Louis wasn't flexible enough to completely bend over and kiss Harry and not snap his spine in half in the process.

So instead, he shrugged a little and shyly played with a loose curl on Harry's head.

"What did you do today?" He softly asked, not sure if his question was weird or not. It was a very normal, casual question, which was why he wasn't sure if it was out of place for their intimate situation.

Thankfully, it wasn't, because Harry answered just as casually as Louis had asked. "Budgeting," he said, causing Louis to frown a little.

"Budgeting?" He questioned.

Harry smiled at his confusion. "Welcome to the life of the poor," he joked, nudging his head up a little. It took a second, but then Louis realised that it was a hint for him to continue playing with Harry's curls, so with a heart that was beating a bit faster than usual, Louis started running his fingers through Harry's hair.

"What do you... 'budget'?" He asked.

"What we can spend after paying the rent and all that," Harry said. "Most important stuff first, like groceries and other important shit. The rest we put on a joined bank account so we can spend it whenever."

Louis nodded slowly. "What if you want to go shopping?"

"If it's not for the others, you have to spend the money you earned from your job," Harry said, his eyes fluttering closed and making Louis' heart skip a beat. Did his touch really have such an effect on Harry? "Like, say you made 300 quid and you used 200 of that on rent, you have 100 to put in the account and to spend if you want to. If you spend it on something the others need as well, you can go over your budget."

Louis bit his lip and nodded again, even though Harry couldn't see it. "You came up with a whole system."

"Liam did," Harry said. "He's the smartest out of the three of us. Well, after Zayn, he was the—"

He abruptly cut himself off. His brows furrowed together as he seemed to silently scold himself for his slip up to Louis, who was now itching with curiosity again about the name. First Barbara, then Harry... who the hell was this Zayn figure?

Despite wanting to know more, Louis could tell it wasn't his place nor the time to ask about it, so he changed the topic and continued asking about the budgeting. "Where do you get your money from?" He asked. "Do you have a job?"

"I do small ones here and there," Harry said, and Louis wondered if he knew that Louis knew about the drug dealing; it was probably part of the 'small ones'. "Liam's a bartender, he takes a ton of night shifts. 'S'why you barely see him around. Niall fixes cars during the day—fucking good at it, too."

"Are they dropouts?"

"Niall is. Liam finished school but he doesn't have the money for college, so he does the bartending thing for now. He likes it, though, so it's fine," Harry said. He opened one eye and smiled as he studied Louis' face.

It caused Louis to blush a little. "What?"

"You're talkative today," Harry said, suddenly reaching one arm up and brushing some hair out of Louis' face. "S'good. The more you talk, the better."

"Thank you," Louis said, offering a shy smile. "It's just because it's you, though. I like talking to you 'cause you take the time to listen."

"Doesn't Barbara?" Harry asked, dropping his hand so that it was behind his head in Louis' lap. It didn't seem like the most comfortable position for his arm, but that didn't stop Louis from carefully grabbing his hand and linking their fingers together, his heart soaring when Harry squeezed his hand.

"She does," he mumbled. "But you're different. I don't know."

"I better be different," Harry said with a grin. "Have something to explain to Niall and me otherwise."

Louis chuckled and shook his head, crinkling his nose a little. "Don't make me think about it. Don't like Barbara like that."

"But you like me like that?"

Louis looked at Harry for a moment; really looked. Looked at the bright green eyes and the pink lips and the tattoos on his arms and neck and the piercings and decided that  _yeah_ ,  _he did like him like that._

So why he said, "I don't know," was beyond him.

"I think you're lying," Harry softly said, his eyes flickering over Louis' face, biting his lip.

"Maybe."


	15. fifteen.

 

𝕗𝕚𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟

 

"I'm actually going to get this tattooed, you know."

"You shouldn't, it looks shit."

"Have you  _seen_  my other tattoos? This one will fit in fine."

With every passing hour, Louis and Harry had got more and more sleep drunk. It had led to Louis designing a small tattoo right on Harry's skin using a ballpen, half in Harry's lap. Harry was leaning against the headboard of the bed, one leg bent and the other stretched out. After a lot of shy and not-so-subtle shuffling, Louis had ended up sat between Harry's legs, his own legs crossed and his back turned to his room so that he was sat smack in front of Harry. It was quite intimate—at least, to Louis it was, but then again, he wasn't exactly used to a lot of intimacy.

The fight between Louis' parents that night had been brief and not very loud. Harry had rambled on and on about how much he hated his maths teacher to try and talk over the sounds from downstairs and distract Louis, who had been incredibly grateful for it.

He grinned at Harry's words, quickly focusing on his doodle on the inside of Harry's wrist, afraid that he might get lost in his eyes. It should be mentioned that there was barely any room on Harry's skin left, but then again, why should that stop Louis?

"You were supposed to disagree," he said, unnecessarily running his fingers over Harry's skin while pretending like it was necessary by turning Harry's hand a bit, even though they both knew he had done it simply because. "You were supposed to tell me, 'It looks great'."

Harry chuckled quietly and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Louis' forehead. Louis' heart jumped at the affection. "Seriously, though. It honestly doesn't look shit," he said, not leaning back and keeping his body and face close to Louis. "You should design one for me."

"Should I, then?" Louis sarcastically said, adding a bit of shading to his doodle.

"Okay, fine, fuck," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Will you please design a tattoo for me, dearest?"

Louis snorted and nearly messed up his drawing. "Okay," he said, refusing to look up. "I'll design one for you."

"Thank you, Louis," Harry said in a sing-song voice, causing Louis to lightly smack his chest.

"Take me seriously," he muttered, failing to keep the smile off his face.

"I'll take you out, that work too?" Harry smoothly replied, and Louis was so stunned, he could only look up. Seeing Harry's smug look brought the smile back, and with a small bit of hesitation, Louis shyly leaned in to attach their lips.

Harry kissed back softly, their lips experimentally brushing together. They were still new to it, kissing each other, and Louis liked that. It made it all the more innocent—nevermind they were close to shagging on his desk, but whatever. Everything they were doing was still very new and fresh. Not in the sense that they had never done anything before (Harry had probably kissed a lot of people) but in the sense that this was new between them.

Everything still had to develop. That was exciting. They still had a lot to explore together, to explore the new and unfamiliar, and hopefully, they didn't mess up along the way.

But for now, the innocent and soft kiss they were sharing was more than fine.

Harry put his hand on the back of Louis' neck, trying to deepen the kiss, but out of fear of going too far and accidentally revealing his bruises, Louis pulled back. "Have to finish the drawing," he mumbled, licking his lips and returning his attention to the ink.

With a huff of air, Harry leaned his forehead on Louis' shoulder. As Louis drew and simultaneously tried to calm his pounding heart, Harry nudged his head around to try and get Louis' attention, but not actually receiving anything. He nudged his head over until his face was pressed against Louis' neck, which was where he started pressing small kisses.

Louis' breath hitched audibly at the sudden affection, which of course, only encouraged Harry to continue and do more. His kisses got more intentional, far more focused than just randomly placed around. Louis was dumb enough to assume it would just stay at that. All of a sudden, Harry lightly nipped at Louis' neck, making Louis gasp and grab the back of Harry's head, dropping his pen as the latter sucked on the skin, drawing blood to the surface. He licked over the small bruise now growing there, before lifting his head and nudging his nose against Louis'.

His hand was still intertwined in Harry's curls, the other gripping Harry's wrist as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Harry smirked smugly, knowing exactly about the effect he had on Louis.

But then again. Louis knew about his effect on Harry too (skinny jeans that caused a boner, anyone?). It was why he was able to tease right back by tilting his head up for a kiss, only to pull back when Harry nudged his head forward with the expectation that Louis was going to kiss him.

"Nice try," Louis jokingly said, grinning when Harry looked genuinely surprised at both his words and moves.

"Fuck you," he muttered but grinned as well.

Louis laughed quietly, pecking Harry's lips before pulling back entirely, grabbing his pen and getting off the bed. "Thoughts on the fake tattoo?" He asked, putting the pen back on his desk and keeping his back turned to Harry, taking a couple of deep breaths to try and steady himself.

"Brilliant," Harry said, laughing, not aware of Louis' state. "Like, honestly. That's sick. It's me, yeah?"

Of course, it was. Who else could Louis mean? It was a cat with a cigarette in its mouth, a bunch of rings on its front paws and a rose on its neck. Then there was the biggest resemblance: the curly tail. Obviously, it was Harry.

He turned back around and nodded, putting on a smile. "Yeah," he said, glancing at the clock and noticing it was nearly midnight. "We got to start being quieter. My parents should be going to bed about now."

Harry nodded, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. "No stress," he said. "They'll never know I was here."

Louis rolled his head back, loosening up the tight muscles in his neck. "They're too self-absorbed to notice anything going on in my life," he mumbled, staring up at the ceiling. "I could light my room on fire and it would take them three to five business days to notice."

Harry burst out into laughter, clasping a hand in front of his mouth to muffle his honking laugh. Louis was more than a little endeared by it. It was the most real thing he knew Harry could give. There was no way he could fake a laugh like that without being far too obvious.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh, that's fucked up," Harry said, still chuckling.

Louis shrugged. "You know what's fucked up? Hiding a kid. That's fucked up."

"You ain't talked to your dad about it yet?" Harry asked, to which Louis shook his head. "You should, love. Can't be good, carrying this shit on your own."

With a sigh, Louis walked over and climbed on the bed again, sitting far enough not to touch Harry. He wanted to show he wasn't that desperate for affection, even though he was. The nickname was pretty affectionate in and of its own already. "Don't know how to start," he admitted, shrugging sheepishly. "He gets angry about everything. Can't discuss the bleeding weather without him getting pissed off about something."

"Ain't all dads like that?" Harry said, nudging Louis' knee with a small grin, trying to joke around.

"Was yours?"

Immediately, Harry's demeanour changed. His grin fell and his face filled with something so profoundly sad, it physically hurt Louis to see. But it was gone within a second, only a small crack in what was oh-so-clearly a careless facade. "He's not around anymore," Harry said, adding a small shrug and trying to seem unbothered.

"What do you mean?" Louis asked, wanting to know more but not wanting to make Harry feel uncomfortable either. Still, he wanted to know something; he told Harry a lot, almost everything, so couldn't Harry return the favour by telling even the smallest thing about himself? "Did he leave you and your mum?"

"Sort of."

"They divorced?"

Harry scoffed humourlessly, looking up and meeting Louis' eyes with a cold look. "He's dead, Louis," he said, and it was said so harshly, that it wasn't just the words that got Louis speechless. Harry noticed and scoffed again, shaking his head and looking away. "Yeah, you regret it now, eh? 'S'what you get for asking too many questions."

"I don't regret—what?" Louis said, blinking a couple of times. Then he got annoyed. "Screw you."

Harry snapped his head back, his brows furrowing together. "Sorry?"

Louis shifted around so he was sitting on his knees, trying to look angry, which was difficult when he was looking at the person who, without fail, always made his heart skip a beat. "I'm trying to get to know you, the bad stuff too," he said. "You get to know about my baggage, but as soon as I even fucking ask anything, you act like the world is ending."

"What baggage, huh?" Harry said, sitting up and leaning forward with his brows furrowed together. Jesus, was this really another fight? What was it, their third? Louis was starting to lose count. "Oh, your dad has a secret kid, boo hoo," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Mine killed himself, but you don't see me crying about that every three seconds, do you?"

Now Louis was truly at a loss for words, his face falling and mouth suddenly very dry. "Jesus," he breathed out, not sure if his legs were working anymore. He regretted pushing now. He'd gone too far.

Harry looked equally shocked at his own words. Clearly, he hadn't meant to say them. There was mostly regret in his eyes, and after a moment, he exhaled sharply and started getting off the bed. Immediately, Louis knew he was going to leave, but there was no way in hell he was going to allow Harry to leave after saying that.

He scrambled off the bed as quickly as he could, nearly tripping and falling flat on his face before he managed to reach Harry. He smashed into his body, hugging him tightly and uncaring that Harry didn't hug him back.

"I'm sorry," he said into Harry's chest. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Harry quietly said, now hugging Louis back. It started out careful, but pretty soon, he held Louis tighter and rested his head atop Louis', holding on for dear life.

"I pressured you," Louis mumbled, moving his arms so that they were around Harry's neck instead of his torso.

"You didn't," Harry said. "You didn't."

It stayed at that. They didn't say anything else and simply stood there for a long time, holding each other and knowing that this had just been another step in their relationship, another step further into getting to know each other with the intent of allowing their feelings to grow. Louis' were doing so steadily, and he hoped it was the same case for Harry, who was just far too closed off for Louis to read.

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

Louis had trouble looking away from Harry. There was something incredibly intriguing about watching someone scratch into the side of your desk with a pocket knife.

Which sounded weird, said out loud. Didn't mean it wasn't happening, however. Harry, being Harry, had a pocket knife with him at probably all times, and had taken it out of his jacket to show Louis. Somehow, he had ended up sat on the floor beside Louis' desk, now carving his name into the wooden desk. Why Louis hadn't stopped him at any point was beyond both of them.

There were now whiskers and a flower (Harry had told Louis it was, apparently, a gardenia). He was working on his initials now, and Louis wondered how his parents would react when they would see the carvings. They hardly came in Louis' room, but they did sometimes, and the carvings weren't exactly very hidden.

He was silently humming a song to himself. Louis pretended like he couldn't hear him, enjoying the sound of his voice far too much. He had a good voice. As soon as Louis would say something about it, however, Louis knew that Harry would immediately shut down and probably never sing around him again. So he kept silent and enjoyed what he could.

" _Blue eyes... Baby's got blue eyes... Like a clear blue sky... Watching over me..."_

It was about him. Louis simply knew. Well, not about him; the song was written by Elton John, and last time Louis checked, he hadn't been in a secret relationship with the singer. But Harry was singing it about him. That was what Louis knew for a fact.

" _Blue eyes... Oh, I love blue eyes... When I'm by his side... Where I long to be... I will see..."_

The official lyrics where 'by her side', which only proved more that Harry was singing it about Louis.

Louis' heart ached because of it. Why had he ever even considered the fact that Harry had been trying to use him for his own gain? The unconscious humming of the song, the change of the pronoun... it meant enough.

He ignored the insecure part of his mind that reminded him that Luke had blue eyes as well and that Harry had probably sung it to him too.

Harry stopped singing at the same time he finished his carving, leaning back a little to admire his own work. Vandalism, rather. Not that Louis minded. And even if he had, he wouldn't have said anything, because he desperately wanted Harry to like him and the stupid, insecure part of his brain told him he had to be okay with everything Harry did for that to happen.

"You got anything to eat?" Harry asked, turning to Louis. "I'm getting hungry."

Remembering the plate of moussaka that was now in his trashcan, Louis shrugged. "Downstairs. But we'd wake my parents."

Harry nodded slowly to himself before he suddenly jumped to his feet. "Let's get food, then."

"Now?"

"Yeah."

Louis climbed off his bed, furrowing his eyebrows together. "It's two am. The grocery store is already closed."

Harry grabbed his jacket and put it on, walking over to Louis' closet and opening it up. "The petrol station's open," he said, pulling out Louis' black jean jacket and tossing it at him. "Come on."

With a frown, Louis put on his jacket. He grabbed his shoe and pried the other one from under his door, putting them on while taking a glance at Harry who was by his window, sliding it open. After he turned off the light and snatched his wallet off his desk, Louis followed Harry, who held out a hand for him to take.

Even though Louis was more than capable of climbing out of his own window, he still took Harry's hand, blushing at the gesture as Harry helped him climb out the window before letting go again.

Not much later, they were walking towards the petrol station. Despite having the strong desire to hold Harry's hand, Louis' shyness refrained him doing so. Then there was the fear of rejection that somehow always managed to linger, even though Louis knew Harry wouldn't reject him.

"How much money you got on you?" Harry asked after a couple of minutes. Louis checked his wallet.

"Two tenners," he said, putting his wallet away again. "And around forty quid in my account."

"Cool," Harry said, furrowing his brows together in thought. "I can spend, like, fifty, max. But I don't reckon we'll come close to that."

Louis nodded, staring at Harry's side profile. "What are you thinking of getting?"

"Beer, for starters," Harry said, before abruptly pausing in his step. Louis realised they weren't just getting food, but that they were going to get drunk after. "But we can't go to the petrol station for that."

"There's a Best-One not too far from here," Louis said, hoping it wasn't a dumb suggestion. He noticed he wasn't opposed to the thought of getting drunk; had it been a month back, he probably would've taken off already. "'It's open twenty-four-seven."

Harry grinned widely, leaning in and kissing Louis' cheek. "Genius, you are," he said, starting to walk into the correct direction.

Louis blushed deeply, taking a second to collect himself before he quickly followed Harry, who was already halfway down the street. Without a word, Harry intertwined their hands once Louis was walking beside him.

"Evenin'," Harry casually said to the cashier when they walked into the Best-One. The cashier was clearly surprised by their entrance as she looked up from her tabloid. She nodded, her eyes flickering to their intertwined hands before she focused on the article she was reading.

Louis wished he was as carefree as Harry when it came to strangers. He was easygoing and had no trouble talking; Louis wanted the same thing.

"Which beer were you thinking of getting?" He quietly asked, feeling pressured not to make too much noise in the quiet store.

"Heineken or Budweiser," Harry replied as he looked through the products on the shelves. He glanced at Louis. "Or do you not like those?"

Louis wanted to laugh. Did Harry really not know that when it came down to alcohol and cigarettes, Louis was completely clueless? He drank what people offered him, not caring about what exactly it was, and since the Halloween party, the same thing went for cigarettes. He liked it, but he was completely clueless about it.

"It's fine," Louis said and knowing he had hesitated before he lied (because he always did that and Harry knew), pointed at a bag of Walkers. "Can we get those?

Harry, knowing about Louis' terrible lie to try and come over as 'cool', grinned in amusement before he grabbed the bag. "Course," he said. "Regular, yeah?"

"Obviously," Louis said, letting go of Harry's hand when he felt his own starting to get sweaty from the heat inside the store. They weren't on the level that being gross together was a thing yet. All in due time, hopefully.

"Cheeky," Harry commented, nudging Louis' cheek with his finger. When Louis blushed for the third time in only half an hour, he thoroughly scolded himself for being so affected by simple things such as hand-holding and cheek kisses.

By the time they had chosen enough food and found Budweiser beer (10 cans in total; it had Louis wondering whether he was even capable of drinking all of it), thirty minutes had passed and the girl by the checkout had finished her tabloid.

Harry furrowed his brows as he looked at the wall of cigarettes behind her. "And a pack Marlboro red, eleven quid," he said. The girl grabbed the pack Harry meant and was about to ask for ID when Harry already held it out for her.

With a bit of envy, Louis knew that being nineteen truly came with a lot of perks. Harry could buy alcohol, cigarettes, drive a car... Louis still had a year and a little less than two months to go.

"Need to see yours too," the cashier suddenly said, turning to Louis.

At a loss for what to do, Louis turned to Harry who didn't look all that bothered by the fact Louis was only sixteen (only two months till he was seventeen, but still, not old enough for what they were buying). Instead, he reached into his pocket and took out an ID that definitely wasn't Louis'.

"He doesn't talk, he's a mute," Harry easily lied, handing the ID over to the girl, who, with a bit of a condescending look at Louis, checked the card.

After a tense moment on Louis' side, the girl handed the ID back. "All good," she said, and Louis wondered what the hell had been on the card.

After paying, Louis and Harry walked out of the story, each a plastic bag in hand. Once Louis was sure the girl couldn't see them anymore, he spoke up to Harry. "That wasn't my ID," he said. "It was a fake, right?"

"Had you one made," Harry said with a grin.

"Barbara told you?"

"How'd you know?"

"We went shopping a couple of weeks back," Louis said, wondering why she still had one made when he had specifically declined. "She offered to have Niall make me a fake one but I said no."

"She told me and Niall," Harry said, nudging Louis' arm. "We got one made 'cause we knew you'd continue hanging out with us and there would be a time when you'd come with to buy alcohol. Couldn't have you be a minor."

With a small chuckle, Louis shook his head. "That's pretty smart, considering one of you's a dropout."

"I was nearly one, you know," Harry said. Louis looked at him in surprise, waiting for him to continue. "Had to redo my freshman year which made a year older than my classmates. Then I ended up failing my A-levels and didn't feel like redoing a year when I was two years older than everyone."

"So why do them now?" Louis asked. Everything was starting to click for him now; why Harry was nineteen and still had to go an entire year and why he had shown up at school in the last year despite never having been there before.

"Couple mates convinced me to," Harry said with a small shrug. He looked at Louis. "With your help, I reckon I'll make it."

Louis smiled and looked away, getting a bit shy from the sincere compliment. "Tutoring is a success, then?"

"Obviously."

Getting a bit of sense back, Louis realised that he was just blindly following Harry to wherever the latter was walking. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"The baseball field," Harry replied. He checked the time on his phone. "'Two-thirty. Not too late."

Louis frowned at him. "I beg to differ."

Harry laughed and nudged Louis' arm again. "What? Past your bedtime?"

"It is, actually," Louis said, nudging him right back. "Pretty sure it's past everyone's."

"Not mine," Harry said, suddenly swinging an arm around Louis' shoulders and pulling him closer, continuing to walk. Louis tried to calm the butterflies in his stomach, without success. "I go to sleep at, like, three, mostly."

"How are you not exhausted all the time?"

Harry grinned, his thumb suddenly rubbing against Louis' jaw. "Shit ton of coffee. Naps. Drugs, sometimes."

"You go to school high?" Louis asked in shock. He was willing to try a lot of things, but going to school high seemed a step too far for even people who did drugs on the regular.

"Sometimes," Harry said with a small shrug. "But it's not, like, a good high. It's stuff to keep me awake."

"Which ones do you take for that?"

Harry glanced at him, his gaze thoughtful. "Ritalin, you know, the ADHD drug?" He said, and Louis nodded in understanding. "Provigil sometimes too."

"What's that?"

"Powder-like stuff. Gets rid of sleepiness," Harry explained. Without thinking much, Louis reached up and grabbed the hand around his shoulder as Harry continued talking. "'S'the bad shit, though. Can give you anxiety and insomnia and sometimes takes away your hunger. Anorexic people sometimes use it to suppress their appetite."

The very explanation proved that Harry and Louis were still extreme polar opposites. Louis would never try Provigil, yet here Harry was, clearly experienced in the stuff. And not just that, he seemed to be experienced in drugs in general.

"Do you take drugs a lot?" Louis asked, afraid of the answer he might get.

Harry, noticing his uneasiness, squeezed his hand. "Not that often," he said. "I mean, I smoke weed a lot, but I don't think that counts much, it ain't bad for you."

"Which ones do you take?"

"What's with the questions, love?" Harry asked with a small frown.

"Just... trying to get to know you better."

Harry chuckled. "Right," he said, clearly not believing Louis entirely, who didn't believe himself much either. "Well, to answer the question, I've taken LSD, coke, speed... uh... poppers, ecstasy. And then Ritalin and Provigil - and weed, obviously."

Completely speechless, Louis could only stare at Harry, who chuckled again. Louis knew Harry was experienced, but... this was something entirely new. Now Louis was starting to understand why Barbara had told him she'd never date Harry; the drugs should be enough to scare anyone off. Still: Louis wasn't going to run.

At that moment, right then and there, Louis made a promise to himself: he'd get Harry to stop. Stop with the drugs and the dealing and the shady stuff.

But for now, all he could do was lean in and kiss Harry's cheek to try and show him that he wasn't scared by any of it. Harry pulled him in so that they were in a hug, kissing Louis' cheek and temple and forehead until Louis giggled. Their lips connected, stroking together a couple of times. Louis felt as if his heart was going to explode from the kiss. The feelings it gave him were unexplainable, and he knew for a fact that there was no drug in the world that could replicate the feeling.

Harry stared into Louis' eyes with a fond look. "Thank you for giving me a third chance," he softly said. "Even though I know I don't deserve it, I'm still glad you did."

"I'm glad too," Louis whispered, pecking Harry's lips. "Can you promise me something?"

Harry nodded carefully, his eyes curious.

"Promise me you won't leave," Louis quietly said. "I know that sounds like a lot, considering we're, you know. Only just beginning. But I'm serious. I can't have you running off again. I can't handle that pain again, and I trust you now, and it takes a lot for me to trust someone."

After a moment, Harry nodded again, although this time, it was a lot more decisive. "I promise," he said, his arm around Louis moving back until he could put a hand on Louis' cheek. He leaned in and kissed him again, once again a slow kiss with the promise still lingering in the air. It meant more than they could say out loud.

Louis suddenly pulled back with a small smile, taking a couple of steps back before he turned around and continued walking. Without looking behind him, he held out a hand to Harry. After a second or so, the latter grabbed it and joined Louis in a now silent walk to the baseball field.

And Louis felt as if he was walking on air when Harry once again started humming the song from earlier.

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

It was nearly four am, and Louis was completely, positively and wholly drunk. He had already been pretty drunk from only two beers, but now, after drinking four, he was completely pissed. Harry was in a similar state, having drunk the other six cans. The cigarettes Harry had bought already had four missing as well.

Now, they were pretending to be playing some sort of demented version of baseball. Harry was pretending to be the batter, and Louis pretended to toss the ball while simultaneously acting as a commentator. Had anyone walked by, they would've probably looked mental.

"Styles takes his stance," he said, gripping the empty beer can he was going to throw at Harry, who was holding a giant stick. "This could make or break his career. Is he going to make it?"

Harry laughed, nudging his head back to tell Louis to throw. He did, and after a small moment of silence, Harry, somehow, managed to hit the can. It ended up a couple of feet behind Louis, who immediately started cheering.

"And he does it!" He slurred, laughing as he watched Harry run over the course. "First base! Second! My God, is it going to be a home run?!"

When Harry reached the last base, they both cheered, their voices practically booming in the quiet night. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that it was only about two and a half hours away from sunrise.

"Styles makes it!" Louis yelled, holding his arms out. "He has done it, ladies and gentlemen! He's bringing it home!"

Harry ran over, hugging Louis and lifting him up, spinning around as if they were in a Disney movie. Louis laughed and held him tightly to make sure he didn't fall, relishing in the kisses being pressed to his neck as Harry lowered him to the ground again.

"Home run," Louis said when his eyes met Harry's, his arms around Harry's neck and foreheads close to touching.

"Only first base with you, though," Harry mumbled, making Louis smile.

"Keep it up and a home run won't be far," he said, unable to help his giggles when Harry pecked his lips a couple of times in quick succession.

"I'm so fucking drunk," he then muttered, and Louis threw his head back in another laugh. Everything was a lot funnier when you were drunk, Louis had learned as much since he started hanging out with Harry and his friends.

"You are," he eventually said, kissing Harry's cheek. "But I'm too."

This time, Harry didn't reply and properly kissed Louis, their tongues sliding together with little time spared. It was sloppy and far from romantic, but that didn't matter much because Louis loved every single kiss he shared with Harry anyway, and Harry seemed to have a similar opinion about it.

Eventually, they somehow ended up on the ground, Louis trapped beneath Harry; he wasn't too troubled by it. Not when it allowed him to have one leg around Harry's waist and his hands in his curls. They were kissing passionately and hungrily, more focused on getting their satisfaction than making the kiss romantic.

Harry playfully nipped at Louis' lower lip before lowering to his neck, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin there. Louis shivered at the sensation, softly moaning when Harry created the second lovebite of that night, and then a third, and a fourth before Louis pulled him back up and kissed him deeply again. Harry made a small sound, muffled by the kiss, and suddenly moved his hips down, rubbing their groins together.

Immediately, Louis' brain, even when swimming in alcohol, warned Louis not to go through with what was obviously happening. He could feel how hard Harry was from just this and knew that if the latter kept going, Louis would end up in a similar state.

So when Harry moved his hips again, Louis pulled away from the kiss. Harry gave him a frown. "What's wrong?" He breathlessly asked, clearly confused by Louis' sudden reluctance, his pupils blown out and face flushed.

The visual was enough to add to the heat in the pit of Louis' stomach. "I'm, uh," he whispered, swallowing dryly, "not to keen on losing my virginity in a field."

Harry grinned. "You want to fuck? Like, seriously?"

"I literally just said no," Louis pointed out, cocking an eyebrow.

"To the field, not to the general idea," Harry said, before leaning down and pressing a couple of kisses to Louis' neck again.

Louis tried not to choke at the fact that Harry was right and that he had one hundred per cent implied that he wanted to have sex, just not in a field. Then again, it wasn't untrue. If this night had done anything, it had shown Louis that he was ready for it and that he wanted it. His secrets just prevented it from happening, but as long as Louis wouldn't anger his father in any sort of way, the bruises would fade and Louis could take off his clothes in front of Harry without any worries.

"I've got an idea," Harry suddenly mumbled, interrupting Louis' thoughts and lifting his head again. "How about I keep doing this—" he suddenly moved his hips down again and made Louis intake a sharp breath— "until we, you know."

"Yeah," Louis breathed out, nodding hastily and lightly tugging on Harry's curls to get him to continue, knowing exactly what he meant with ' _you know_ '. "That's—yeah."

With a smirk, Harry leaned in and attached their lips again. He started moving his hips back and forth, creating friction and drawing out small moans from Louis who, even in his drunken state, couldn't believe what he was doing. That he was doing  _this_ , in the middle of an abandoned baseball field with someone like Harry, both completely intoxicated and a bit high on nicotine and actually enjoying it.

It was happening though, and as aforementioned, Louis was enjoying it, so he wrapped his other leg around Harry's waist and urged him to go faster. Harry's moves were deliberate but painstakingly slow. Filthily rubbing them together through layers of clothing, and Louis was pinned down to take it: as if he was complaining.

"Babe," Harry breathed out, sounding pressed. "Good?"

"Yeah, shit, just—yeah," Louis replied in a whisper, clinging onto Harry as if he was his last lifeline. Harry pressed them together in a haste, wet kiss, far from gentle but only there to show how badly he wanted Louis.

After a bit, Harry lost his composure a little and leaned his forearm beside Louis' head, breathing hotly against Louis' neck. He was grinding unfalteringly, making Louis choke out whimpers at the feeling. He saw stars when Harry kissed his neck and thrust up against him, moaning loudly when Harry nipped at the sensitive skin on his neck.

The pressure was nearly overwhelming, especially to Louis who was so deeply inexperienced in all of it. He at least wanted to last longer than five minutes to show Harry that he wasn't that desperate and that he could actually last. He wanted to come, really badly, but he also wanted to impress Harry.

That stopped mattering when Louis realised that Harry wasn't focused on lasting at all, but to get to an orgasm as quickly as possible. The alcohol probably made it easier and made them less caring for a long time, but rather a good time.

"Fuck, Louis," Harry moaned, which was so incredibly erotic that Louis had trouble staying levelheaded.

"Close," he whined out and knew that when Harry fastened his pace, he was too.

It didn't take much longer for them to finally reach an orgasm, and when they did, it happened almost simultaneously. Harry suddenly slammed his hips down, and when he came, moaned against the side of Louis' neck and kept thrusting forward through his orgasm, which caused Louis to come as well.

It was powerful as all fuck, and for a moment, Louis' mind completely blanked. He clung onto Harry, his hips stuttering as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. It was only a few seconds, but Louis decided that they were the best seconds he'd ever experienced. Well, maybe not the best, but still  _really_  fucking great.

And when he started coming back down to earth again with a collapsed Harry on top of him, panting against his neck, he wondered what exactly it meant for them.


	16. sixteen.

 

𝕤𝕚𝕩𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟

 

When Louis was younger, he had been convinced that love was simple: you met a person, and you fell in love, and you'd be in love with them until your very last breath.

Through hard ways, he learned that in many cases, this wasn't true at all. Take his parents, for example, they made the promise to love each other in sickness and health, for better or for worse, yet Louis' father had cheated and was now hiding a kid, and all that to and from the woman he was supposed to love forever.

There was also that time when Princess Diana and Prince Charles divorced, despite being—in Louis' eyes—a royal, and so a perfect, couple. That was the perspective he had as a child because, in fairy tales, the royal couple stays together forever.

And now this; he and Harry. There was nothing platonic about them anymore, but they weren't together. They weren't boyfriend and boyfriend. If anything, friends with benefits suited their situation better, but then there was also the case of knowing about each other's feelings, so that didn't exactly fit them either. They both knew they liked each other as more than friends, but did that mean something more serious was on its way?

They had kissed, had slept in the same bed and had got each other off, but they had yet to discuss anything.

Which was probably why Louis was so confused that morning as he watched the sunrise beside Harry, perched on top of the roof of Harry's apartment complex. Technically, they weren't allowed to be up there, but Harry had said that he knew the guy who owned the building and that they were allowed a pass every once in a while.

Harry was laying on his back, smoking his fourth cigarette of that night as he stared up at the sky that was slowly changing colours. It was around six am, and Louis was completely exhausted and longed to go to bed. He and Harry were sober again, as alcohol generally didn't have that much of a lasting effect anyway.

Louis was alternating between watching the sunrise and watching Harry, who was either unaware of his gaze or simply ignoring it. Either way, he was gorgeous. The way the early morning sun caressed Harry's features was nearly breathtaking. For a person with such a hard exterior, regardless of it being a facade, he had the softest face in the golden glow of the sun.

It was a bit unfair, really.

"You free this Friday?" Harry suddenly asked, breaking the silence. Louis stared at him for a couple of moments before he looked back at the sunrise.

"Probably."

Harry hummed to let Louis knew he had heard it. It sounded a bit noncommittal, especially when he didn't follow it up with anything.

"Why?"

"I'm taking you out on Friday," Harry said, deciding without Louis. "The date thing, remember?"

Obviously, Louis remembered. As if he'd forget something that monumental in his life. "Where are you taking me?"

Harry scoffed quietly. "Not telling you, love."

The nickname shouldn't have such a strong effect on Louis. It simply shouldn't. Yet it did. "Not the same place you were planning on taking me last time, right?"

"No, that was a dumb fucking idea," Harry said, sitting up and holding his cigarette out to Louis, who, without much thinking, leaned over and took a drag.

He had smoked so many times that night, he was already used to the sensation. Not that it was anything to be proud of. Actually, Louis was a bit ashamed. He knew how bad smoking was, how fucked it was, and had often promised to himself he'd never smoke. Yet here he was, smoking as if he hadn't done any differently his entire life.

"What was the idea?" He asked, slowly blowing the smoke to the sky. He was aware that Harry's eyes were trained on him as he took a drag as well.

"Art museum."

Louis snorted, meeting Harry's eyes. "Bit of an open door," he said. "I mean, taking someone to an art museum because they draw?"

"I told you it was dumb," Harry said with a grin. "Got a much better idea now, though."

"Can't wait," Louis mumbled, watching as Harry pressed out the cigarette on the roof before tossing it over the edge.

He then looked at Louis again, leaning back on his hands. They held eye contact for a bit before Harry slowly smirked, his eyes raking up and down Louis' body.

"What?" Louis asked.

"Come here," Harry said. "I want to kiss you."

The sensible and sassy side of Louis said  _no, if you want to kiss me you can come over here_   _and not boss me around_ , but the desperate,  _'I want Harry to like me no matter what'_ -side made him shuffle closer and lean in, allowing Harry to connect their lips.

The effect was still the same; strong heat in Louis' veins, his heartbeat speeding up and his muscles weak.

Harry placed a hand on Louis' waist and slowly slid it up, under his shirt to rub over Louis' skin for a moment, before he dragged it back down. He continued the path down Louis' thigh and started rubbing inwards, getting closer and closer to Louis' groin with each rub.

Louis, aware of what Harry was trying to do and knowing that it wasn't the time, pulled back and placed his hand on top of Harry's. "I've got to go home soon," he mumbled, keeping his face close to Harry's but letting his head hang, allowing himself to stare at their hands. "Before my parents notice I'm gone."

"I'll walk you home," Harry mumbled back, nudging his face against the side of Louis' head, breathing in his scent and pressing a small kiss there.

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

His hand slipped out from under Louis' and moved until it reached Louis' bum. Louis allowed Harry to pull him closer, breathing out heavier when Harry unnecessarily squeezed. They nudged their faces together, not speaking or kissing but simply enjoying being close to each other, their breaths intermingling and hands on each other's bodies. They were so, so close, sitting still enough to pass as statues.

"I could do this forever with you," Harry whispered, rubbing his nose against Louis'.

"Forever's a long time," Louis said, looking into Harry's eyes from under his eyelashes.

"Would you rather do this till death, then?" Harry said, a corner of his mouth twitching up, barely noticeable but still there.

Louis offered him a small smile. "I think about that sometimes, death," he mumbled, brushing his lips over Harry's cupid bow.

"I think everyone does, at some point."

"Not like that," Louis shook his head a little, scrunching his face up just enough to show Harry he was having trouble putting it into words. "I mean, like, I imagine it. What death is like. Sounds fucking weird when I say it out loud, though."

Harry lightly kissed his chin. "I hope to arrive to my death late, in love, and a little drunk," he softly said, pressing another kiss to Louis' cheek. "'S'from this poet, Atticus."

"He sounds like he's got it all figured out."

For some reason, those words earned Louis' a proper kiss to the lips instead of just his cheek or chin. It's a couple of slow strokes, not nearly enough but nearly too much.

Harry pulled back, pecking Louis' lips a couple of times. "Maybe it's out of place of me to say, but," he mumbled, reaching up and brushing some hair from Louis' forehead, "I kind of feel like I got everything figured out too, when I'm with you."

This brought a bright smile to Louis' face, his eyes crinkling at the sincere words. "I have the same thing with you."

"Sounds like we're the ones who got it all figured out, then."

It made the two of them chuckle because they both knew that didn't have anything figured out, let alone everything. They were both hiding things, their own issues, from each other and from the world and even themselves. They were falling for each other without being sure that they were a good pair.

But, in that small, intimate moment, Harry was right. For a little bit, sat impossibly close in the warm embrace of the rising sun, they had absolutely everything figured out.

And that was enough for Louis to decide that forever didn't sound so bad.

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

For some reason, Louis actually owned a scarf he had never used before. There was, however, a first time for everything, even for something as mundane as wearing a scarf. Louis didn't even like scarves. Although, at the moment, he didn't exactly have a choice; there were four separate lovebites on his neck that he couldn't show to his parents without meeting an early death.

So when he went downstairs after sleeping for about three hours, he mumbled about feeling cold when his mother had pointed it out. For the first time, due to his unusual night, Louis actually ate breakfast. It had taken the attention away from the fact that he was wearing a scarf in a perfectly warm house.

From his mother, he got a proud kiss on the forehead. From his father, he got a grumble about 'finally creating some muscle'. It was something rude and weakly disguised as a compliment, but Louis hadn't responded it to it, reminding himself that he needed his bruises to disappear, not multiply.

When he returned to his room, his gaze was automatically attracted to the carvings on the side of his desk. The gardenia and whiskers and initials were still there, obvious and proud and a reminder of last night. Louis hoped he was never going to forget it.

" _So, did it happen? Did you lose your virginity?_ "

"Technically, I didn't. We kissed a lot, though."

" _Technically?_ " Barbara repeated and then giggled. " _Okay, you have to come over now, I don't care if you're tired, you have to."_

Louis smiled, running his fingers over the drawing he had been working on before Barbara had called him. It was a drawing of what was oh-so-obviously him and Harry, Harry's lips on Louis' neck. Louis had drawn what he thought they had looked like from a third person perspective.

"Fine. I'm on my way."

" _You better_."

The walk to Barbara's house was cold and filled with yawns. For some reason, November always insisted on being far colder than October. At least it gave Louis a good excuse to wear his scarf. He wondered if it was going to snow this year. He hoped that it would because despite hating the cold, he still loved snow: there was something incredibly pleasing about seeing the world covered in a blanket of white. Maybe it was because it resembled paper; almost as if the world was a canvas.

"Hi—God, it's freezing, come inside," Barbara ushered Louis when she opened the door. She pulled him into a small hug, playfully poking the dark bags under Louis' eyes. "Not very attractive, babes."

Barbara's room was no longer decorated in Halloween themed decorations, but now Christmas ones. There were snowflake string lights hanging on the walls, a Christmas tree in the corner, multiple string lights and stockings scattered around the room. There was even a small Santa Clause figurine holding a clock on her window sill, waving along to the clock's ticking.

After taking off his coat and shoes and putting his coat down on Barbara's desk chair, Louis sat down in front of Barbara on her small two-seater on the other side of the room. "Okay, so, show me," she said, nodding to the scarf Louis still hadn't taken off.

"How did you even know?" Louis asked, already unwinding his scarf because he knew there was no reason to deny anything. The last person he could expect judgement from when it came to romance and sex was Barbara, that was quite clear.

"Because you were with Harry last night, and if I'm not mistaken, you said you 'technically' had sex," Barbara said, and then gasped when she saw Louis' neck before giving an impressed chuckle. She leaned forward and ran her fingers over the bruises. "Wow, he really went for it."

"Yeah," Louis mumbled, keeping his eyes trained on the ceiling as Barbara inspected the lovebites.

"You like them?"

"Is it weird if I say yes?" Louis asked, meeting Barbara's eyes when she leaned back again. "I mean, it's like—I don't know. It's weird."

"No, I get it," Barbara said, smiling excitedly at being able to exchange these kinds of things with Louis. "It's like he marked you as his, almost, right?"

"Yeah," Louis breathed out. "I don't want to cover them up, but I don't want people to ask questions either, you know? Or judge, or something."

Barbara patted his knee. "Fuck what people think," she said. To her, that seemed like a simple thing; to Louis, not so much. He pretty much lived on other's people judgement, afraid to stand out and to have people actually judge him. "Now, real talk; did you or did you not have sex with him?"

For some reason, Louis adored her straightforward nature. She was clearly not one to beat around the bush. She said what she meant and meant what she said; Louis wished he could be the same. "I didn't lose my virginity if that's what you mean."

"So, not all the way?" Barbara asked. Louis shook his head. "Okay, so then what? Blowjob?"

"Not even," Louis said, shaking his head again and grinning a little. "We went to get beer at, like, two-thirty am, right?" He said, waiting for Barbara to nod so he could continue. "Well, anyway, we went to the baseball field and got dumb drunk."

"Stop adding so much suspense!" Barbara said, lightly slapping Louis' arm and causing him to chuckle. "Seriously! I'm dying over here."

"Well, to be, like, really short about it, we started snogging," Louis said, "and then he, like, started grinding on me? And I did it back? Until we, you know,  _finished_."

Barbara let out a loud and nearly euphoric laugh, clapping her hands together. "You two had dry sex!"

"If that's what it's called," Louis said, blushing at the term that for some reason, made him incredibly embarrassed.

"Do you know how adorable that is?" Barbara said, squealing and squeezing Louis' knee enthusiastically. If she was this excited about 'dry sex', Louis could only imagine how she was going to react once he'd lose virginity. Yes, that was happening—when? He had no idea. Definitely not in the upcoming week, but it was going to happen if he and Harry kept going as strong as they were now.

"How is it adorable?" He asked although he couldn't help but smile at Barbara's enthusiasm. He liked having a best friend.

"Because—! You're taking steps with him!" Barbara said. "And, I mean, this is Harry we're talking about. I know you haven't been in our group very long, but I can tell you that he was the type of person to have sex before having love, you know? But with you, he's actually willing to wait. That's sweet. Shows he's serious."

Louis blushed a little, glancing down at his hand and turning an invisible ring on his ring finger. "You think?"

"Definitely," Barbara assured, smiling softly. "I mean, he's clearly serious about you. At first, I thought he'd just try to get with you and then he'd ditch, but he didn't. I'm starting to think he actually has feelings for you."

That last part made Louis a bit bitter. Was he really that unloveable that it was difficult to believe someone actually had feelings for him? Luckily, Barbara picked up on it immediately. "Not that you're unattractive, Jesus!" She quickly said, grabbing one of Louis' hands in apology. "I just—I meant, like, that I've never seen him properly date before."

"What about Luke?" Louis asked with a small frown, glad that Barbara had picked up on his uneasiness. She was a proper diamond, he was convinced of it.

"I don't know what that was. Like a... friends-with-benefits thing that blossomed," Barbara said, crinkling her nose a little. She clearly didn't like the idea of Luke and Harry together, something that made Louis secretly happy; however, that was the dark, jealous part of him that he wasn't going to allow to take over. "And even then, Harry wasn't serious about it. He said he liked Luke, but I don't know. I think most of the loving came from Luke's side."

"That's kind of fucked up."

"Which is why it's so good to see that you and Harry are different from that." Barbara scoffed and shook her head. "Honestly, I'm just glad Harry's moving on. Their relationship was so toxic, it was horrible. They were always fighting, like always, it was so messed up. We were always playing relationship therapist for them."

Louis smiled weakly. Discussing Luke and Harry's past relationship wasn't really high on his list of interests. He just simply didn't care: it was Louis & Harry now, not Luke & Harry. It didn't matter, their past together. Not to Louis.

"Well, Harry isn't going to know what hit him," he decidedly said. "He's never going to want to go back to Luke."

"Luke's not so bad, you know."

"He's been a complete wanker to me since we met."

Barbara chuckled, squeezing Louis' hand. He had nearly forgotten she was still holding it. Not that he minded. "He's jealous, you dummy," she said. "Clearly, he's not over Harry and can't handle the fact that Harry is over him and has moved on to you."

"Do you think I'm, like, the reason he moved on?" Louis asked, but then quickly shook his head when he realised how selfish and presumptuous he sounded. "I mean, not  _the_  reason, but like,  _a_  reason. Does that make sense?"

"It does," Barbara assured, nodding slowly as she thought about Louis' question. "I mean, I definitely think you were the final push Harry needed. If he hadn't met you and you hadn't, you know, given him a chance, I think he would've just gone back to Luke."

Louis couldn't help but smile a little at that. He had caused Harry to move on. It meant that Harry was more interested in Louis than he was in Luke. Maybe it was selfish of him, but Louis secretly really loved that thought.

Maybe, if he and Harry would eventually be in a serious relationship, Harry would open up more. As of now, he didn't talk about himself at all, and when he did, it was generic impersonal things. Nothing about his past or close family. Well, except for his dad, but he hadn't exactly meant to say it out loud: he had blurted it out on accident.

"Barbara?" Louis asked, waiting for Barbara to nod before he continued. "Has Harry ever, like, talked about his dad to you?"

"Did he tell you?" Barbara said. "About the, you know..."

"The suicide?" Louis quietly finished for her, causing her to visibly flinch at the word. "I don't think he meant to tell. We got into some dumb argument and he kind of blurted it out."

Barbara didn't reply and only smiled sadly.

"But that was all he said, though. Didn't really follow it up with anything."

"It's not my place to tell, Louis," Barbara said, and Louis quickly shook his head. That hadn't been his intention at all; he didn't want Barbara to tell him about Harry's past, he wanted Harry to do that himself. It would be a sign of trust, for Harry to tell him the truth. For Louis to get it from someone else was not only deeply disrespectful, it was also enough ground for Harry to never even look at him again—and rightfully so.

"No, I know."

Barbara bit her lip and sighed softly. "It happened a while ago, though," she said. "I think, like, three years ago? That's as much as I can say, though."

Louis looked down at his hands as he went over Harry's words from earlier. He wondered if Harry regretted saying them, or if he regretted letting Louis know about what had occurred in the past.

"I'm not going to pressure him to talk," Louis mumbled, still staring at his lap. "But I just hope he'll open up to me eventually."

"He will. It takes him a while but he will, especially because it's you," Barbara said, and Louis smiled carefully.

There was a beat of silence.

"Hey, Lou?" Barbara asked, causing Louis to look up and notice the contemplating look in her eyes. "You said you didn't want to pressure Harry into talking, but you're not, like, letting yourself get pressured into anything either, right?"

Louis frowned, not understanding what she was getting at, but before he could say anything, she continued. "It's just, after our talk yesterday about you thinking we were expecting you to do shit like have sex, I kind of started thinking," she said, "and just—I thought that maybe we had pressured you into other things, you know, like drinking alcohol. And smoking cigarettes, because—no offence—I'm pretty sure you hadn't done either before you met us."

It took Louis a couple of seconds to reply. He fidgeted with his invisible ring and thought about what Barbara said. "You didn't pressure me," he eventually said. "You guys introduced me to it, but you never pressured me. Not directly."

"What do you mean, 'not directly'?" Barbara quickly asked, panic flashing in her eyes. It took Louis by surprise, that she seemed so genuinely horrified by the idea of pressuring Louis into doing something.

"I mean, like, I pressured me, if that makes any sense," Louis said. "You offered, and I somehow convinced myself that I had to do it to fit in."

A sad look settled on Barbara's face as she shuffled a bit closer, grabbing both of Louis' hands and looking him straight into his eyes. "Don't ever do anything you don't want to do because you feel like it'll help you fit in," she said, her voice completely sincere and suited for her solemn expression. "You're just as much of a part of our group, no matter if you do, or don't, drink and smoke, okay?"

Louis nodded stiffly. "Okay," he said, taken aback by Barbara's words. She seemed genuinely troubled by the idea that Louis felt pressured, even though Louis hadn't even considered it such a big deal. Apparently, it was.

"I'm serious, Louis. It's not okay to do things because you think you have to in order to fit in."

"Okay," Louis dumbly repeated and cleared his throat when he realised he was being very unresponsive to such a sincere speech. "Thank you, though, for saying that. That means a lot."

Barbara smiled brightly and let go of Louis' hands again, suddenly standing over and padding over to her desk. Louis was a bit envious of the grace she did it with: she walked on the balls of her foot and had a beautiful walk, if that made any sense. The way she walked was graceful and free and attractive; the way Louis walked was rigid and probably far from attractive.

Barbara returned to the small couch with her laptop in hands, plopping down beside Louis and opening a new tab. "You're into girls, right?" She asked, and Louis chuckled at the sudden change in topic.

"Theoretically, yeah."

"Right, Harry," Barbara said, looking up at Louis with a small grin. "Anyway, I need your help with something."

"What?" Louis asked, already getting a bit of an idea when he saw Barbara type in Victoria's Secret.

"I need to buy new lingerie but I need your opinion," Barbara said. "And since you're into girls but also guys, you seemed like the perfect person for that."

Louis laughed and slid down a bit on the couch, getting more comfortable and leaning his head against Barbara's shoulder. "GBF type of thing, then?"

"Exactly," Barbara agreed with a giggle. "It's not just for me, though."

"Niall?"

Barbara nodded. "I want to spice it up a little."

"Then go for red," Louis decisively said, nodding to a red lingerie bodysuit consisting primarily out of see-through lace. "Red's more sultry and screams sex."

"Artists," Barbara mumbled but smiled nonetheless. "What do you think about this one?"

"I mean. Bit skanky."

"Is that a yes, then?"

"Obviously."

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

 **_We were born to live_ **  
**_born to love_ **  
**_with millions of years_ **  
**_perfecting the art of it_ **  
**_and yet still, somehow,_ **  
**_it comes so unnaturally_ **  
**_to most of us_ **

Throughout the rest of the weekend, leading up all the way to Monday morning, Harry kept continuously sending Louis poetry of what was clearly his favourite poet, Atticus. Louis, despite not being terribly interested in poetry (especially not when he was exhausted and had to spend his Sunday working on forgotten homework), replied to every single poem with equal enthusiasm because he knew that he was seeing a side of Harry not many others got to see.

Nobody had ever mentioned poetry and Harry at the same time, and Louis had a bit of a suspicion that not many people, if any, knew about Harry's clear love towards poetry. Or, at least, Atticus' poems. Considering those had been the only ones Louis had received, he was quite convinced that it was Harry's favourite poet. Louis understood it: the poems were, one by one, incredibly beautiful yet simply put together, leaving a lot to the imagination, yet very little due to the straightforward nature of the poems.

 **_and he looked_ **  
**_up at death_ **  
**_as his time dawned_ **  
**_please, he said..._ **  
**_just one more life_ **  
**_i promise i'll be quick_ **

Some poems spoke more to Louis than others. Some clearly had a resemblance to their currently blossoming relationship.

 **_there is too much_ **  
**_risk in loving_ **  
**_the young boy said_ **  
**_no_ **  
**_the old man said_ **  
**_there is too much risk_ **  
**_in not_ **

The poems meant a lot to Harry. Louis knew this not only because Harry was actually showing them to him, but because Harry was using proper grammar on them. Harry's usual texts were written without capital letters, correct grammar or punctuation, yet these texts were, albeit missing capital letters, nearly perfect.

That Monday, Louis was a bit (okay, very) disappointed when Harry didn't show up to their first period. He was even more disappointed when Harry texted him saying he was skipping that day because Niall needed help at the garage: not just because he had been excited about seeing Harry again, but also because Harry was putting work above school. Louis wasn't putting in all that effort for tutoring only for Harry not to utilise it in his school work. How did he expect to get his A-levels if he skipped so much?

Nevertheless, Louis decided not to worry about things he didn't have any power over at the moment and tried to focus on school instead. Unfortunately for him, Harry refused to leave his mind. Louis found himself constantly staring off into space or at his empty notebooks, lost in thought about Harry's everything. His hair, his voice, his eyes, his words, his attitude towards the world, his tattoos... for some reason, every little thing about Harry was starting to nestle in Louis' mind and refused to leave. No maths equation or French grammar structure could drive away the thoughts.

In a way, it made Louis understand why people chose not to date until after school in order to keep their focus. Having a crush did not do much for your school work. If anything, it held it back.

The heat also distracted him plenty. For some reason, the building he went to school in insisted on either being too cold or too hot and at the moment, wearing a scarf, Louis decided it was too hot today. Taking off the scarf wasn't an option, though; there were four lovebites that had yet to fade and weren't going to fade for at least another day if Barbara's advice had been anything to go by.

When Louis was at his locker that afternoon after school, his phone buzzed a couple of times. The first buzz Louis' ignored, thinking it was Harry and that he probably wouldn't mind it if Louis didn't immediately reply to what was expectedly another poem. However, when his phone buzzed a second and then a third time and kept continuing to buzz, Louis stopped trying to get his books to fit in his locker and checked his phone, only for his heart to swell at the separate texts he had received.

 **_ Harry <3 _ **  
**at the field with the others**  
**pls come too been missing u x**

 ** _Barbara_**  
**We're at the baseball field!!**  
**waiting for u to join** 😇

 ** _Liam_**  
**come to baseball field pls**  
**got beer** 🍻

So, admittedly, Louis felt like crying. They  _remembered_  him. They wanted him  _there_. That had never happened to him before. Never had people specifically remembered him and had invited him because they wanted him to join.

It was nearly enough to bring him to tears, no matter how dramatic that sounded.

 **to: Harry <3**  
**Omw x**

 **to: Barbara**  
**Be there in ten :)**

 **to: Liam**  
🍻🍻‼️

Which is how Louis found himself walking to the baseball field, his heart pounding with excitement and his walk a bit more confident than usual as if it was saying: yes, I just got invited somewhere, take it all in while you still can. That confidence didn't last too long, because, in the end, Louis was still that shy, rather timid character he had always been.

At first, Louis forgot when he had to enter the trees surrounding the field and nearly made a full circle before realising he was going the wrong way. There was no way he was going to text the others that he was lost; he'd like to have at least a little bit of autonomy and for his ego to stay intact. It was when he remembered the house with the pink door that he knew where to go, and with a bit of embarrassment at his own forgetfulness, finally reached the hole in the fence. He'd been here literally two days ago, how dumb could he actually get?

After climbing through the hole with a bit of trouble, he noticed everyone sat in the dugout. They didn't seem to immediately spot him, which allowed Louis to walk up to them and prepare his greeting. He settled on 'hi'; simple, but effective. The closer he got, the more faces he could make out: obviously, Harry, Liam and Barbara were there, but he also spotted Niall, Luke and Ashton, who Louis hadn't actually seen in a while.

"There he is! Tommo!" Liam shouted when he noticed him. Louis grinned at the nickname.

"Payno," he replied without thinking too much of it, and Liam grinned so widely Louis thought his face would split in half. It also earned him a fist bump and a ruffle through his hair, so he assumed he said the right thing.

When Louis glanced at Harry, he found him staring at Louis with his bottom lip between his teeth, the corners of his lips curled up into a small, knowing grin as he shamelessly checked Louis out. He looked him up and down, raking his eyes over Louis' body as if it was an artwork instead of belonging to a person—not that Louis minded. He actually kind of liked it, because it showed that Harry desired him. As if that was news, though. Louis knew, no matter how conceited it sounded, that Harry sexually desired him. Fuck yeah.

Before Louis could respond to Harry in any sort of way, Barbara tugged him down on the spot beside her on the bench, ridding of the idea he had to lean against the small fence beside Harry, maybe subtly have their fingers touch. A quick glance told Louis that Harry seemed equally disappointed. Another glance told Louis that Luke didn't seem all too bothered by it.

"How you been? Haven't talked to you in a while," Niall asked Louis, which was bullshit because they saw each other last Thursday morning, which was only four days ago.

Still, Louis appreciated the effort, and the least he could do was reply normally. "Good," he said, aware that Harry's grin grew because they both knew that he had been having a very good couple days lately. "Kind of exhausted, though."

"You been going out a lot?" Ashton asked, oblivious to what Louis' weekend had been like.

"You could say that, yeah."

Barbara giggled, pressing her face against Louis' shoulder and making Louis chuckle as well. He gave Harry a meaningful look, trying to let him know that Barbara knew, and Harry had to look away to hide his own smile.

"What are you two laughin' about?" Liam asked, frowning at Louis and Barbara.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head and waving it off. "Inside joke."

"Inside joke? You cheating on me with Louis?" Niall said with a joking grin, and Louis was surprised when he didn't hear a single bit of jealousy in Niall's voice, almost as if he wasn't worried about the idea at all.

Was no one aware that Louis wasn't actually gay and could still be with a girl if he wanted to?

"Yes," Barbara deadpanned, giggling again.

Louis was a bit envious of them now, of their ability to be able to freely joke about that sort of thing and not feel uncomfortable. It showed they trusted each other. He wanted that too.

Maybe that was why he glanced at Harry again. Harry didn't return the gaze, too busy staring at his phone with a furrow in his brow. Then he tapped on the screen and put the phone to his ear, walking away from the group.

"Where is he going?" Ashton asked, and Liam glanced over his shoulder to watch Harry a couple of feet away, talking to someone over the phone.

"Probably none of our business," Luke said, and if Louis hadn't been so quiet, he probably wouldn't have noticed the small pinch of sadness in Luke's voice. He nearly felt bad for the guy. Nearly.

Instead, he turned to Barbara. "Have you got any cigarettes?" He asked, hoping it wasn't out of place. He'd been having a strange feeling yesterday evening, and it had taken him a while before he had realised he needed to have a smoke. It was a weird type of itch.

Barbara regarded him with a small frown. "No, but maybe Liam does?" She said, leaning a bit closer and lowering her voice. "You're not doing this to, you know—"

"No," Louis quickly interrupted, shaking his head. "I just—I genuinely need one."

Now, Barbara smiled. "Okay," she said and turned to Liam. "Hey, Liam, you got a fag?"

"Yeah, you want one?" Liam asked, already reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket.

Barbara shook her head. "No, it's for Louis."

"I didn't know you smoked," Luke commented with a raised eyebrow, eyeing Louis as if he was trying to find some sort of lie.

Instead of replying, Louis took the cigarette from Liam and placed it between his lips, leaning forwards and allowing Liam to light it before he lit his own. Louis allowed the smoke to settle in his lungs for a bit before he blew it out, and finally, turned to Luke.

"Now you know," he simply said, satisfied when he didn't get a reply.

It was right then that Harry returned to the group, shoving his phone back into the pocket of his jacket. Without hesitation, he walked over to Louis and sat down beside him on the bench instead of returning to his original spot. Louis' heart jumped with excitement, and he consciously leaned a bit more towards Harry to have as much of their bodies touch without seeming too obvious.

"Who did you call?" He quietly asked, aware that the tone of his voice was maybe a bit too intimate for the situation, considering the others were still there, listening in.

"I'll tell you later, yeah?" Harry replied in an equally quiet tone. Louis softly smiled and nodded, his stomach filling with butterflies when Harry returned the smile and his left dimple appeared.

"So what are we doing for New Years?" Luke suddenly asked, purposefully loud in order to interrupt Harry and Louis' moment.

Louis looked at his feet as he bit his lip, now a bit more self-conscious. He'd probably spend his New Years at home, up in his room because his parents would be downstairs, mumbling a 'Happy New Year,' to himself in the silence.

"Celebrate at Barbara's, I reckon," Niall said, now turning to Barbara. "Your parents home?"

"I think so, yeah, but we can just take the other living room," Barbara said, and Louis wondered why a person would need two living rooms, but kept quiet.

"You should join, Louis," Ashton said, making Louis look up in surprise. "If you're not doing anything?"

"I'd like that, yeah," Louis said with a small smile. He could feel Harry's hand suddenly shift closer to his, his fingers brushing over the back of Louis' hand. Louis, trying to stop his smile from growing, put his cigarette to his lips and inhaled.

"Sick," Niall said with a grin. "We were hoping you'd say yes."

This time, Louis didn't bother trying to keep his smile down and practically beamed as he exhaled the smoke. "I'll be there," he decisively said, ignoring the eye roll Luke gave.

He didn't care, not when he was holding Harry's hand, hidden behind their jackets and between their legs. Harry's thumb was rubbing small circles over the back of his hand, and Louis had half a mind to lean his head on Harry's shoulder. He wasn't going to because they weren't exactly serious enough to announce anything to their friends, but still; Louis kind of wanted to sneak off with Harry to go somewhere alone.

Harry seemed to have the same idea as he leaned in closer. "We're all going to ours later, you should come," he mumbled, and Louis assumed that by 'ours', he meant his, Liam and Niall's flat. Harry reached up with his free hand and brushed some of Louis' hair behind his ear, causing butterflies to erupt in Louis' stomach. "We don't have to sit in the living room with them, though, can just hang out in my room for a little bit. You know, be alone."

Oh.

It was suggestive. Louis didn't need to think very long about what Harry had in mind, knowing exactly what he was getting at. It sent something incredibly strong straight to the pit of his stomach.

And when he noticed that Luke was listening in on their very private conversation, his ear turned to them and brows furrowed together, Louis purposely glanced at Harry's lips and said, softly, "Yeah, definitely."

Harry grinned and bit his lip, looking Louis up and down before he glanced away, squeezing his hand. Louis had trouble slowing his pounding heart, taking multiple drags of his cigarette in an attempt to calm down.

When Harry took his cigarette and took a drag himself, Louis was quite sure that at that moment, had the others not been around, he'd have jumped Harry. Kissed him till his lips felt like they were on fire. But for now, all he could do was stare at Harry's side profile as he laughed at something Ashton said, admiring what he saw and wondering if Harry knew about the effect he had on Louis.

He probably did.


	17. seventeen.

 

𝕤𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟

 

Getting into a single elevator with seven people was a dumb idea for a multitude of reasons: the two biggest reasons were that there was barely any room to move and that it was probably highly dangerous. Did that stop the group? No. It was how Louis found himself dying with laughter in a cramped elevator, pressed against Harry all the way in the back.

The reason for his laughter was because Ashton and Niall had a tendency of turning everything into a joke, and were also the ones messing around inside the elevator. Niall kept making sexual comments that implied an elevator orgy, and Ashton went along with it seamlessly.

"Wow, Liam, is that your phone or are you just as excited as I am about this situation?"

"God, lads, this is all my fantasies come to life."

"You know, I'm kind of starting to hope the elevator's going to get stuck now."

Louis got momentarily distracted when Harry put an arm around him, his hand resting on Louis' lower back and making Louis more than a little excited. He couldn't help but glance up at Harry who seemed very satisfied with himself at his successful move.

"Kind of reminds me of that Ed Sheeran song," Louis mumbled, causing Harry to frown a little. Louis stood up on his toes, discreetly putting his lips by Harry's ear. "' _Up and coming like I'm fucking in an elevator_ '."

Whether his innuendo was good or not was questionable, but the fact that it made Harry exhale sharply and tighten his hold on Louis seemed like a very good response. When his hand slipped down to Louis' bum and then squeezed, simultaneously pulling Louis forward, Louis decided that he had definitely said the right thing, all while grinning smugly.

They couldn't do anything else as the elevator had finally arrived at the right floor (they lived on the sixth, stairs had never been an option). Everyone stumbled out, pushing each other around playfully—well, except for Barbara, considering she was the only girl. Louis ought it a bit sexist, but got rid of that thought when he noticed that she didn't seem to mind, flipping her hair over her shoulder and shaking her head with a small smile.

Despite it only being his second time in the flat, Louis was already used to how it smelled and looked. The strong stench of cigarette smoke, cheap air freshener and something like burnt popcorn was still thick in the air, and Louis had half a mind to tell Harry to open a window already. The pile of shoes by the door was missing, but that was only for a couple of seconds: as soon as they were all inside, everyone kicked off their shoes and took off their jackets, only to pile into the living room.

Louis followed everyone's lead (he didn't take off his scarf, for obvious reasons), not exactly sure what he was allowed to do and what he wasn't. He watched how the others spread out over the couches, at a loss of what to do. When he noticed Niall and Harry walk into the tiny kitchen, he followed them quietly.

He watched how the two took out beer cans from the fridge, but as soon as Harry noticed him, he put the cans down on the counter and walked over. He grabbed one of Louis' hands and only then did Louis notice that he had been fidgeting again, turning an invisible ring on his ring finger.

"Why are you always so nervous, love?" Harry asked, the back of his other hand stroking over Louis' cheek.

"I'm not nervous," Louis said, resisting the urge to lean into Harry's touch. He noticed Niall looking at them with a small frown, and remembered that he had never really been on board with the idea of he and Harry dating. Well, they weren't exactly official yet, but there was clearly something going on between them, and Niall didn't seem too stoked about it.

"I'll see you two in the living room, then," Niall muttered, grabbing the cans Harry had abandoned and leaving the kitchen.

Almost immediately after he left, Louis stepped forward and Harry put his hands on his waist—it was nearly funny, how oddly desperate they were. "What's with the scarf?" Harry asked, something glimmering in his eyes.

With a small eye roll, Louis unwound the scarf and revealed the four lovebites. Harry chuckled at the sight of them. "That's why," Louis said, keeping the scarf around his neck but not bothering to wind it around again. "Had to hide them. My parents think I'm a loner, remember?"

"They look hot on you," Harry said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to one of the bruises. When Louis glanced over at the living room, he noticed Barbara staring at them with her lower lip between her teeth, eyes thoughtful. She looked away when her eyes met Louis'.

"Let's go to your room," he mumbled, tugging on Harry's shirt. He was getting a bit fed up with everyone constantly judging him and Harry, and would rather be out of their views instead of under their judgemental gazes.

Harry seemed to think Louis just wanted privacy for an entirely different, far more sexual reason, his eyes flickering with lust and excitement. "Yeah, sure," he said, grabbing Louis' hand and lacing their fingers together before gently tugging him along.

As they left the living area, Louis purposely avoided making eye-contact with anyone and kept his gaze on Harry's back.

"Use protection!" Ashton called after them, a laugh evident in his voice.

"Shut up!" Harry said right back, similar amusement in his voice. Louis just stepped a bit closer as Harry led him over to his room. It would be the first time he'd seen it, although he doubted he was going to see a lot with the plans both he and Harry seemed to have in mind.

When Harry opened the door, Louis immediately noticed how bare the room was; apart from a double bed, a rickety desk and a small closet, it was empty. There were a couple of lost posters on the walls, but there wasn't much more decoration besides that.

At least, that was what Louis thought until he glanced over at a corner on the same side of the room the door was on and noticed a bunch of paper with text on it glued to the wall. He let go of Harry's hand as he walked over to it, and wasn't too surprised to notice that it was all poetry. He was faintly aware that Harry had taken his scarf from him and was now hanging it over the back of the chair by the desk, but was more focused on the poems.

It wasn't just from Harry's favourite, Atticus, but also more famous poets, like Cummings, Oscar Wilde and Edgar Allan Poe. There were a lot of poems, messily glued to the plaster and overlapping each other.

" _I'm Nobody, who are you? Are you Nobody too?_ " Louis softly read aloud, running his fingers over the poem. " _Then there's a pair of us. Don't tell, they'd advertise, you know_."

"'S'from Emily Dickinson," Harry said from somewhere behind Louis. " _How dreary to be somebody. How public, like a Frog, to tell one's name, the livelong June, to an admiring Bog_."

Louis smiled a little, knowing that Harry was slowly, bit by bit, opening up to him. "You know it well."

"It's my sister's favourite, that one," Harry said, and suddenly wrapped his arms around Louis' waist from behind. Louis instinctively leaned into his chest, putting a hand atop Harry's. It was impressive, how quickly they were getting so used to each other.

"I didn't know you had a sister," Louis said, reading over the same poem again.

"She lives in the US," Harry said. "'S'funny, that you picked her favourite to read out of all of those."

Louis smiled a bit wider, his heartbeat picking up when he felt Harry's lips on his neck. "Poetry is like your hidden hobby, then?"

Harry hummed distractedly, pressing kisses all over Louis' skin. He was clearly not too interested in having a conversation about poetry. Luckily for him, neither was Louis.

"No more lovebites," he quickly said when he felt Harry lightly nip on his neck. "Can't have my parents suspect anything."

"Use makeup, Barbara'll teach you," Harry mumbled, one of his hands slipping under Louis' shirt and his fingers ghosting over Louis' stomach, erupting goosebumps.

Louis didn't have much else to say as he allowed Harry to pretty much violate his neck, reaching up to bury a hand in Harry's curls. He lasted for maybe a minute before he turned around and connected their lips, hungrily kissing Harry who responded with equal enthusiasm. He pushed Louis against the wall, grabbing his waist with both hands and stepping impossibly close.

There was a bit of nervousness Louis just couldn't get rid off. He knew he and Harry weren't going to go all the way considering there were five people only a room over, but he was still nervous about how far they were exactly going. The worry about the bruises was gone; they had faded enough so that they were barely visible, especially in the dim light in Harry's room.

However, Louis forced his worries away and focused on what was now; Harry, kissing him, right there under Louis' fingertips with his focus on only Louis and nobody else. That thought was enough for Louis to feel a bit giddier, knowing that Harry wanted him like he wanted Harry.

This became especially clear when Harry used the tip of his tongue to lick over Louis' bottom lip, causing Louis to part his lips and for their tongues to slide together. He made a small sound, something close to a moan, and lightly tugged on Harry's curls.

After heatedly snogging for what had to be at least ten minutes, Harry's hands left Louis' waist and gripped the edge of Louis' sweater, tugging it up. Without thinking too much of it, Louis was quick to take it off, only to remember that there was a small chance that Harry would see the bruise. That worry promptly disappeared when Harry started pressing kisses to his chest, obviously not seeing the very faded bruise.

Harry grabbed one of Louis' legs and pulled it up, allowing it to hook behind his waist before he slotted his own leg between Louis' and pushed it up. Louis moaned softly at the friction, urging Harry to repeat the action. It didn't take long before Louis realised he could do the same thing to Harry, and before long, they were pretty much humping each other's legs, their kissing intertwined with small moans.

"Jump," Harry suddenly mumbled against Louis' lips, and Louis complied quickly, jumping up and wrapping his other leg around Harry's waist, Harry's hands gripping under his thighs. Without wasting a single moment, Harry walked over to the bed and carefully lowered Louis down on it, hovering above Louis by leaning on his knees and forearms, the bed creaking under the sudden new weight.

It was then that Louis noticed that he was the only one in the room not wearing a shirt and pointedly tugged on Harry's. Thankfully, Harry seemed to get the hint and leaned back on his thighs to take off his shirt in one smooth motion, leaving Louis a bit dry-mouthed and highly impressed. Instead of going in to kiss Harry again, Louis stared at Harry's chest, taking in the many tattoos and wondering about each separate piece of ink.

Carefully reaching out, Louis trailed the tips of his fingers over Harry's chest and down to his stomach, over his abs and relishing in the fact that he could finally touch instead of just stare, something he always did when they were getting changed before and after PE. Now, he was allowed to both stare and touch and decided to make the most of it.

"Do you like them?" Harry quietly asked, looking deeply into Louis' eyes so that Louis now found it impossible to look away.

"Yes," he whispered, nodding and smiling a little when Harry leaned in again, brushing their noses together. "I really like them."

Harry kissed him deeply before moving onto his chest, pressing kisses there; he kept pressing kisses all over Louis' torso until he reached the waistline of Louis' skinny jeans, and then mumbled, almost to himself, "Fucking beautiful."

All the while, Louis watched and nearly had an urge to cry. He had never, not in his entire life, felt so appreciated and so loved than he did at that moment. And maybe that was fucked up, that he needed sex in order to feel loved, but in reality, it wasn't just sex; it was Harry. Harry spent so much time with Louis and put so much effort into making Louis feel comfortable that Louis couldn't help but feel loved.

Not that he was going to admit that to anyone anytime soon—he wasn't even sure if he could admit it to himself already.

He pushed it all to the back of his mind and instead tried to focus on Harry's lips on his skin, leaving behind a trail of lust and heat and desire and  _yes, more, more_. Louis whined quietly when Harry kissed one of his nipples, grabbing the back of Harry's head as if he needed to steady himself. Seemingly appreciative with Louis' response, Harry started teasing his nipple, licking and lightly dragging his teeth until Louis was writhing under him, achingly hard and on the brink of breaking into a million pieces, all for Harry to play with.

Harry finally seemed satisfied with his work and kissed Louis again. Louis, feeling a bit useless at the fact that he had just been lying there and not doing anything to pleasure Harry, reached down on a complete whim. Finding exactly what he was looking for, Louis' hand landed on Harry's much-bigger-than-usual bulge. Without hesitating, Louis started palming Harry through his jeans, basking in the sounds he was drawing out of Harry.

"Shit," Harry breathed out, and it seemed that a bit of sense returned to him because he suddenly reached down and did exactly what Louis was doing.

This went on for a while, the two of them just palming each other through layers and layers of clothing while moaning into each other's mouths. Being far more experienced than Louis, Harry seemed to be thinking one step ahead and was suddenly undoing the button of Louis' jeans. Before Louis could comprehend what was happening, Harry had his hand past his waistline and continued palming him through what was now only a thin layer of fabric of his boxers.

It felt a lot more intense and caused Louis to moan out a lot louder than before, and it apparently seemed to be the response Harry was looking for, because he promptly kissed Louis again, who then realised that he should probably do the same to Harry. With trembling hands that were both from the nerves and excitement, Louis undid the button on Harry's jeans.

"'S'okay," Harry suddenly mumbled, meeting Louis' eyes. "It's okay."

Louis forgot all about his plans and deeply kissed Harry for a short couple of seconds. "Thank you," he said, pecking Harry's lips a couple of times in quick succession. "You're amazing."

"You are," Harry simply said, and then squeezed his hand and caused Louis to snap his head back and moan loudly in surprise, remembering what he was doing before Harry had interrupted.

Gathering a bit of courage in Harry's words, Louis slipped one hand past the waistline of his jeans and tried to copy what Harry was doing as well as he could. From the way Harry hissed, his eyes screwing shut and brows furrowing together, Louis was quite sure he was doing it correctly. Their positions never changed, Harry hovering over Louis with their foreheads pressed together and lips just barely apart from each other, moaning into each other's mouths and occasionally kissing the other.

It all came to a screeching halt when there was suddenly a knock on their door—well, a knock... it rather sounded like someone was trying to kick down the door. "Oi, lovebirds!" Liam's voice said from behind the wood.

Louis' cheeks turned a deep red when Harry groaned in irritation. "For fuck's sake," he muttered and seemed so genuinely angry as he climbed off Louis and off the bed that Louis was tempted to tell Liam to fuck off and give Harry a much better time right then and there.

Harry opened the door with a glare while Louis stayed on the bed, leaning up on his arms and hearing Liam chuckle. "I reckon I interrupted?" He teasingly said, making Louis blush even deeper.

"The fuck d'you want?" Harry muttered in annoyance, clearly not happy at the fact that Liam had interfered with a very intense moment. It was then that Louis realised Harry wasn't even trying to hide his boner, which Liam, without a doubt, had definitely noticed already.

"We're ordering pizza, wanted to know if Louis liked that."

It warmed Louis' heart a little, that they were so considerate with him. Harry seemed to appreciate it a lot less as he glanced over his shoulder and said, "Are you okay with eating the most basic fucking food in the world?"

"'S'fine," Louis said, sitting up a lot straighter as he started to realise that not much else was going to happen once Liam would leave again.

"Cool," Liam said. "You like pepperoni, Tommo?"

"Yeah."

"Alright," Liam said, and with a chuckle, walked away, allowing Harry to shut the door again. He sighed and walked over to the bed, sitting down and shaking his head.

"Sorry about that," he said, glancing over at Louis. "They did it on purpose, they knew what we were doing."

 _What we were doing_. Jesus, why did that sound so hot to Louis? He didn't really know how to reply and instead shuffled closer until his knees were touching Harry's legs. He put one hand on Harry's jaw and leaned in, kissing him softly and slowly. Harry put a hand on his thigh as he kissed back, letting out a small hum of appreciation.

Louis pulled back carefully, putting his hand on top of Harry's and squeezing tenderly. "I'm not here only to have sex, you know, no matter what they think," he said, staring at their hands when he realised that he wouldn't be able to continue talking if he were to look into Harry's eyes. "Like, I don't want you to think that's why I'm with you. I know it kind of seems like that."

"If anything, I'm the one who makes it seem like that," Harry said, turning his hand around and intertwining his fingers with Louis'. "And I don't want just that either."

Louis was proud of both of them. They were communicating, telling each other what they were in for and that it wasn't just sex. He liked it, that they were talking, because it felt very adult-like, in a sense. They weren't just two teenagers in a fling, fucking left and right and calling it love because they didn't know any better. They were actually communicating, and that was important.

Eventually, they would open up about their personal issues, Louis was sure of it. Harry would tell him about his past and why he always insisted on fighting, why he did the things he did and how he got so intensely into drugs. Louis suspected that most of it were because of his father's suicide, but even about that, Louis knew very little. He himself wasn't quite sure if he would ever tell Harry about his own dad's physical tendencies. Maybe if it got worse, but not if it stayed like this or maybe even stopped entirely.

For now, he smiled and squeezed Harry's hand. "Do you have a favourite poem?" He softly asked, shuffling even closer and allowing his crossed legs to rest on top of Harry's thigh. "And is it from Atticus?"

Harry seemed happy that Louis remembered the poet's name because his eyes lit up and he smiled so widely that his dimple was deep enough to drown in. "I do have one," he said. "But it's not from him. He's my favourite poet, though."

"Who's the poem from?" Louis asked, admiring Harry's features as the latter stared at their intertwined hands.

"Mary Elizabeth Frye," he said. "She's not very well known. It's the only poem she's ever written as well. Or, published, at least, I'm sure she's written a lot more privately."

Instead of replying, Louis kept silent and waited. He knew that Harry would eventually tell him the poem; there wasn't a doubt in his mind that Harry knew the poem from the top of his head. Louis leaned his forehead on Harry's shoulder, burying his face into the crook of Harry's neck as he waited.

And then, finally, Harry spoke up. " _Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there; I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain,_ " he said, his voice hushed and filled with emotions Louis couldn't identify. All he knew, was that he was immediately entranced by the poetry leaving Harry's lips. " _When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush_  
_of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night.  Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die_."

Rendered speechless, Louis could only nudge his head a bit closer and squeeze Harry's hand again. Even though he understood the poem, Louis wasn't quite sure what it exactly meant to Harry; he didn't know Harry well enough for that. It could be that Harry simply liked the poem and nothing more, no underlying meaning, but Louis ought that highly implausible, considering the emotion he had heard in Harry's voice. Perhaps, his father's death wasn't the only heavy loss Harry had endured in his past. Maybe there was far more to it.

There wasn't a lot that Louis understood about Harry, or his past or even his present life. Right now, however, he understood that slowly but surely, Harry was starting to trust him. It was probably going to be difficult, considering how closed off he was, but Louis ought himself capable of handling everything; they were probably equally fucked up. It was a bittersweet comfort.

"I'm here," Louis whispered. "I'm always here."

"I know."

"For you."

"I know."

 

━━━─── • ───━━━

 

He left too late, he left way too late. He had texted his mother that he wouldn't be home for dinner but would still be back on time because of school tomorrow, but now, at nearly twelve, Louis knew he had fucked up.

It had just been so fun at the flat, that he had lost track of time. They'd been talking all night, eating pizza and joking around, simply being around each other. Louis had even sat on Harry's lap at one point, and nobody had said a thing about it. When he had checked his phone, he had seen that it was already past eleven pm and had realised that his dad was going to kill him.

"Oh, fuck," he had said, jumping up from Harry's lap and rushing into the hall, ignoring the surprised calling of his name from the others.

Harry had followed him, asking why he was suddenly leaving and looking incredibly bewildered.

"I said I'd be home on time but it's late and my dad is going to kill me and I just can't have him—" Louis had rambled before he had abruptly cut himself off, in case he'd say too much. "I just got to get home."

After he had yelled a quick goodbye at the others and had allowed Harry to kiss him, he had pretty much sprinted home, despite knowing that he was late already anyway and that there was nothing for him to do about it now.

He had known that his father was going to be angry, but this went beyond his expectations. His father had gone way too far this time.

At one am, in the middle of the night, Louis found himself in the bathroom with the door locked, trying to get his nose to stop bleeding and to not stand on his left leg because it hurt too much. He had no clue how he got up the stairs. After his father had had his way with Louis, he had left the latter on the floor of the living room with a steadily bleeding nose and more bruises than ever before.

Even though she hadn't come downstairs through the entire beating, Louis knew that his mother had heard it. If he could hear their vocal fights, he knew for a fact that his mother could hear the physical one that had gone down right below her in the middle of the night. It hurt, knowing that she had heard it yet had done nothing to stop it.

Then again, it was kind of his own fault: he had come home far past his curfew even though he had known what would happen. It was his own fault, that his dad had hit him; he shouldn't have given him a reason or provoked him. He should know better by now.

"Fuck," Louis muttered, accidentally leaning too much on his left leg and jolting from the pain, letting go of his nose long enough for another spurt of blood to escape. He swore again and quickly ripped off more toilet paper, pressing it to his nose and squeezing the sore bridge.

If it was bruised tomorrow morning, he wouldn't go to school. He'd just claim to feel ill and text Harry that he couldn't do any tutoring. Shit, Harry: they were getting so close. Harry had taken his clothes off yesterday, which meant that he knew that Louis was okay with what had clearly been happening at that moment—it meant that Harry probably assumed it was going to happen again. Louis wanted it to happen again.

But no, no, he just had to go and fuck it up with his dad, had to insist on luring him out and angering him. He really knew how to mess things up, didn't he?

When his nose finally stopped bleeding and he was only left with a splitting headache and a painful leg, Louis cleaned up the sink as well as he could from the blood that had dripped into it. The short trip to his room felt like an eternity, due to his inability at walking normally and the fact that he felt incredibly dizzy. He pretty much collapsed on his bed, remembering to put his phone in the charger and to set his alarm for the next morning.

It took him a couple of minutes to gather some courage, but eventually, Louis dared to bend his left knee, which hurt the most from the kick he had received there. Biting down on his fist, Louis bent it all the way before straightening his leg out again. When he did so, his knee popped and he exclaimed in pain, muffling it behind his hand while trying to stop any tears from leaking out.

The pop had relieved at least half of the pain but had also made his leg a lot less flexible. Bending his knee still hurt and was difficult to do.

With a sigh, Louis carefully took off his shoes and skinny jeans to keep his knee from hurting more, trying to keep any worries about tomorrow at bay. He went through a couple of excuses he could use for tomorrow in case people would ask about his bruised nose or his limp. The limp was easy; he had missed a step on the stairs and had landed on his knee when he fell. The bruise on his nose, however, was a lot more difficult to explain: what, he had walked into a door? A pole? That didn't bruise that much. Maybe if he had smashed his face into it, but not because he had just walked into it.

He couldn't say he had got into a fight, considering that Harry would probably try to find the fictional bloke that hit him.

For now, he prayed that his bruise wouldn't be that bad, and that if it did bruise, his mother had foundation laying around and that it suited his skin tone. The bruises on his stomach, lower back and hip wouldn't be a worry until Thursday, when he had PE.

That was going to be an issue.


	18. eighteen.

 

𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟

 

Although Louis didn't believe in God, he had still thanked Him over and over again when he had looked in the mirror the next morning and had seen that his nose hadn't turned a different colour. It hurt and was sore, but it hadn't actually, properly bruised. As for his leg, he still had a bit of a limp and still felt pain whenever he'd bend his knee.

Add that to the absolute exhaustion he felt that morning, and Louis knew that the upcoming day was going to be very, very long.

He had purposely taken a long time to get ready in order to avoid his father during breakfast, not wanting to risk the chance of seeing him, even though it was a Tuesday and his dad always left an hour earlier on Tuesdays. Who knew, he might've decided to leave a bit later; Louis didn't want to be around to find out.

Luckily, the house was empty when he got downstairs. There was strawberry yoghurt waiting for him on the counter beside a spoon, a note under the small container.

 _Have a good day at school! Dad and I won't be him till nine._  
_x mum_

So they would both be late today. Didn't matter, it wasn't like Louis needed to eat dinner or anything.

The walk to school was excruciatingly slow due to his fucked leg, allowing him to return to his habit of counting random things around him. Today, he focused on the number of black pebbles he came across on. Non surprisingly, there were a lot and Louis lost track a couple of times. His end result probably wasn't correct. For once, he didn't care.

His first period, Maths, was spent alone. His second one was French, which he shared with Harry, who grinned as soon as he spotted Louis before his grin was replaced with a frown.

"The fuck you got a limp for?" He asked as soon as Louis sat down in the seat beside him.

Louis stared at the table, swallowing thickly. "Fell."

"You're lying, you hesitated."

"I did fall," Louis said, now meeting Harry's eyes and ignoring the jump of his heart at the beautiful green. "When I got home yesterday. It was dark and I slipped on the stairs, busted my knee."

"And you're sure about that?" Harry asked, furrowing his brows together as he took a glance at Louis' knee. "Absolutely sure?"

"Christ, yes!" Louis said, feeling a bit irritated that Harry didn't accept his explanation as valid and that he had to lie to Harry again. "Can you fucking drop it? I fell, don't matter if you believe it or not."

Harry's eyebrows shot up at Louis' curt response and he leaned back a little. "Fine, fuck, alright. Sorry for asking."

"No, no, don't, I just—" Louis cut himself off with a sigh and hid his face in his hands, resting his elbows on the table. "Didn't sleep well. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that."

Instead of replying, Harry put his hand on Louis' thigh, giving it a small squeeze. Louis reached down with one hand and grabbed Harry's, squeezing back. When he glanced at Harry he saw him smiling to himself, staring at the board in the front of the class.

Had somebody told Louis he'd be holding the hand of the cutest guy he had ever met in the middle of class three months ago, he would've laughed. It was difficult to believe even now, while he was holding Harry's hand.

They had to eventually let go because of the fact that they needed to take notes, but it was still a sweet thing, in Louis' book. It was nice to experience something like that, even if it was just holding hands. It made him forget about the pulsing bruises covering his body, if only for a little bit.

After an explanation that pretty much came down to that they had a listening test next week and that they were going to practice for that the upcoming lessons, Harry turned to Louis with a small grin.

"You know listening is the only part I'm actually pretty good at?" He said while their teacher searched for the right track they would be practising with. "Getting better at the speaking part too."

"Are you?" Louis asked with a small smile, turning his body more towards Harry. " _Tu parles bien Français, oui?_ "

Harry scrunched up his face and shook his head. " _Assez_ ," he corrected. " _Je parle assez bien Français_."

Louis beamed in pride and sniffed. "Not bad, good to know my tutoring is actually doing something."

"We still on after school, yeah?" Harry asked, something hopeful flickering in his eyes. It didn't take long for Louis to know what Harry had in mind; tutoring was not amongst that.

"Yeah," he reluctantly said, sniffing again. They weren't going to do that, it was as simple as that. There was just no way Harry could see the bruises.

"You got a cold or something?" Harry asked with a frown at Louis' continuous sniffing.

Before Louis could reply, their teacher called for them to be quiet and to pay attention to the exercise. The first two questions were easy, and Louis had no trouble finding the answer in the track. At the third fragment, he sniffed again and wiped at his nose, missing the stripe of red on his hand.

Only when he leaned his head on his hand and glanced down did he notice that his nose was bleeding again, because this time, multiple drops had escaped and stained his notebook.

"Shit," Louis said in surprise, abruptly standing up and trying to catch the blood, which was now coming out in much bigger amounts.

Everyone turned to him in surprise, and his teacher, who seemed momentarily annoyed that he had interrupted the audio fragment, gasped. "Oh, dear!" She said, quickly rushing over. She couldn't properly get to Louis, because Harry had already jumped up from his seat and was crowding Louis.

"Come here," he muttered, sounding rather calm, although Louis didn't miss the flash of panic in his eyes as he helped Louis squeeze his nose. "What did you do?"

Louis shrugged, incapable of lying to Harry when he had the attention of the entire class on him. Hell, he was incapable of lying in general.

"How about you take him to the nurse?" Their teacher interrupted, looking at Harry while blood kept steadily escaping Louis' nose: the squeezing wasn't working too well. "Make it quick, too, before you bleed all over your clothes."

Louis grimaced and nodded, watching as Harry grabbed both their things and shoved it in their bags. He kept his gaze down as they left the classroom, not wanting to meet anyone's eyes out of embarrassment for his current situation.

"The fuck did you do?" Harry asked as soon as the door closed behind them.

"Don't know," Louis mumbled, keeping a hand under his nose to catch the blood that was still escaping.

Not wanting to allow Harry to comment on the fact that he had lied yet again, he quickly slipped into one of the bathrooms. Entering one of the stalls, he grabbed some toilet paper, pressing it to his nose before he turned around. He couldn't actually leave the bathroom, because Harry was in front of the door, Louis' bag in hand and his own over his shoulder.

"Why are you lying so much?" He asked, his brows furrowed together in what was nearly anger. "You haven't said a single truthful fucking thing today."

"Can we not do this right now?" Louis mumbled, trying to walk past Harry who wouldn't budge. "I'm bleeding, Haz, at least let me go to the nurse first."

Albeit reluctantly, Harry stepped aside and followed Louis out of the bathroom. As they made their way to the nurse's office they were both stubbornly silent, although that didn't stop Harry from putting his hand on Louis' lower back, and neither did it stop Louis from limping just a bit more to properly have Harry's concern.

They were both utterly pathetic.

"It just started bleeding?" The nurse asked, carefully touching Louis' nose which had finally stopped bleeding again.

"Yes."

"You didn't bump it?"

"No."

The nurse hummed, stepping back and turning around to write something on a clipboard. "Have you been sleeping?"

Louis bit his lip, nervously fidgeting with his ring finger, turning a ring that wasn't there. "Not enough, I think."

She hummed again. "What about your eating habits? Been skipping any meals?" She asked, turning back around and putting the clipboard down, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"I didn't eat breakfast today," Louis said, adding a small shrug. "But I never eat breakfast, so."

"That's very unhealthy, Louis," the nurse said, furrowing her brows just enough to show her disapproval. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. It could affect your academic performance."

Louis didn't reply and simply stared at his lap: he knew this stuff already. He had done his own research a long time ago: a higher risk for diabetes and heart disease, it hurt his bone health and could create high blood pressure. To put it simply, he was very much aware that breakfast was important. He just couldn't  _eat_  it: it made him nauseous and left him feeling bloated, nothing that he was excited about in the early mornings before school.

"How did the other guy look?" The nurse suddenly asked, and Louis looked up in puzzlement.

"What?"

The nurse smiled a little, appearing a bit amused. "Your nose is bruised," she said, and Louis felt his heart stop. "You can't see it, but you can feel it; the skin is sore. It's not as soft as the rest of your skin, so to speak."

She chuckled a little. "I'm a nurse at a school filled with angry, hormonal boys, Louis, I know a bruised nose from a fight when I see one."

Louis turned a little red and looked down again, shrugging despite there not being anything for him to shrug for.

"So, who was it? Does he go here?" The nurse asked, putting a hand on Louis' arm. "Is he also the one who gave you that limp?"

"He doesn't go here," Louis said, which wasn't even a lie. His dad didn't go to his school, but then again, Louis couldn't exactly refer to 'he' as his father, could he? "And it only happened once. I'm probably never seeing him again."

For some reason, the nurse believed him. She nodded slowly, taking her hand off his arm and walking over to her computer. "You can go home for the day," she said, glancing over at him. "Don't think you'd want to walk around with that sweater all day."

Louis glanced down and only then noticed the blood staining his clothes. It wasn't a lot, but still enough to ruin the sweater he had bought with Barbara all those weeks ago. He'd probably have to throw it out now.

"And when you go home, tell your friend to go back to class," the nurse continued, and Louis remembered that Harry was waiting outside. "Before he misses too much. It's nice that he's looking out for you, but I'm quite sure you're more than capable of finding your locker."

Louis didn't tell her that Harry couldn't care less about his classes—if anything, he was probably glad he had a reason to miss the lesson.

"Yeah."

When Louis left the small office after promising to the nurse that if 'the guy' who had beat him up would return he'd tell her, Harry immediately perked up upon noticing him. Louis' heart grew about two sizes when he noticed his jacket in Harry's hands. Harry was properly taking care of him, even when he didn't deserve it.

"Thanks," he quietly said, taking his jacket from Harry. "How did you even get my key?"

"I searched through your bag," Harry said, and,  _duh_. "So?"

"So, what?"

"Don't play dumb, it doesn't work in your favour."

Had it not been for the situation, Louis would've replied with something witty. "Lack of sleep and food," he said, which wasn't a lie in its entirety. It wasn't the truth, not in his case, but it was still true in a general sense. "I need to start eating breakfast, sleep more, intake more sugar."

"You didn't eat breakfast?" Harry asked with a frown, handing Louis his bag. Louis then noticed that Harry was wearing his jacket as well, which meant that he was probably planning on leaving with Louis.

"I never eat breakfast," Louis said, shrugging a little as he swung his backpack over his shoulders. "It makes me nauseous."

"That's so bad for you," Harry said. Louis didn't reply.

They started walking towards the exit, and he glanced at Harry who had a thoughtful look on his face. "You're not allowed to go home."

"So?"

"Don't play dumb."

Harry grinned, holding the door open for Louis. "I get to spend an entire day with you, I ain't about to throw that away for a couple of classes."

It probably shouldn't make Louis' heartbeat speed up at the fact that Harry liked spending time that much with him, yet it did. "Fuck your education 'cause you want to fuck me?"

Louis had no clue where that had come from, and Harry, who burst out into laughter, seemed equally surprised. Nice going, really, you were truly showing Harry that you had no interest in sex. Stellar, really, just stellar.

Luckily for Louis, Harry didn't reply to his words. Instead, they walked off the school grounds together, although it went a lot slower than usual due to Louis' limp. When they were almost down the street, Harry sighed and stopped walking.

"What?" Louis questioned as Harry took off his backpack and positioned it over his chest instead.

Turning his back to Louis, Harry crouched down in front of him. "Come on."

Louis blushed a deep red, shaking his head even though Harry couldn't see it.

"Yes, Louis," Harry simply said, apparently aware that Louis was shaking his head. He didn't even glance over his shoulder. "You're hurting, let me help. It's not that far."

"If it's not that far why don't you just let me walk?" Louis grumbled, walking over with a lot of reluctance.

"'Cause it would take you fucking hours," Harry said, and Louis didn't need to see his face to know he was grinning smugly when he stood up with Louis on his back.

He did it without so much as a hitch. Even his breathing stayed even, and Louis wondered if he was either that skinny or if Harry was that strong.

"I feel like a koala."

Harry chuckled and glanced back as well as he could. "Well, you have all the koala-fications."

Despite it being a terrible joke, Louis still laughed, taken completely off guard by it. "That was so bad."

"Made you laugh, though," Harry said, and Louis didn't have anything to reply to that with, simply smiling and resting his chin on his arms around Harry's neck.

"What qualifications do I have to function as a koala, anyway?" He asked, and Harry laughed at his question.

"You, hanging off my back, for one thing," he said, and Louis squeezed his arms a bit tighter around Harry's neck for a moment, making Harry laugh again. "Koalas also like to be alone. And you're small, too."

"I am not small!" Louis quickly defended, giving Harry an outraged look. "You're just inhumanly tall."

"Yeah, sure," Harry said, sarcastically agreeing. "You're right."

"Fucking bet I am."

Harry only chuckled.

Instead of allowing Louis to open the front door himself, Harry took the key from him without letting him off his back, proceeding to walk into the house and up the stairs, all while still carrying Louis. It was a sweet gesture and showed that Harry genuinely cared about him, all causing Louis to blush deeply when he was finally put down in his bedroom.

"You didn't have to go through all that trouble."

Harry gave him a nearly exasperated look. "You should learn to accept help every once in a while," he said, which cut, for some reason. It seemed oddly applicable to Louis' current situation, with him refusing to let the nurse know about what had happened so she could help him. It wasn't just the nurse, either. There were a lot of people he could go to for help, and the most obvious choice was in his bedroom at the moment.

"Thank you for helping me," Louis eventually said, watching as Harry took off his jacket and copying his moves. "Even though it made me feel like a koala."

"We can spend some koala-ty time together now, though, yeah?" Harry said, wiggling his eyebrows at yet another pun.

Louis just grinned and shook his head. "You're getting worse by the minute."

"You're right," Harry said, and from the look on his face, Louis could tell another joke was on its way. "These jokes are un _bear_ able."

"Awful," Louis said, limping over to his bed and climbing on top of it as well as he could, making sure not to put too much weight on his injured knee. "Did you know koalas aren't actually bears, though?"

"They're not?"

"No. Different infraclass."

"Whatever that is."

Louis grinned, mindlessly fidgeting with his bed sheet. Harry's uncaring and unbothered attitude towards everything and anything would probably never bore him. It was refreshing, in a way, and once again, made Louis wish he could one day be as careless as Harry was.

"Hey," he said, directing Harry's attention to himself instead of the carvings in his desk Harry was eyeing with a small smile. "I'm looking forward to Friday."

Harry's smile widened. "Me too," he said. "I got something good planned. You're going to like it."

"You sound confident," Louis said, his heart jumping when Harry suddenly walked over and dropped on the bed as well. It was truly mental, the effect Harry kept having on him. Simply having him on the same bed made his heart jump. Would that ever go away? Louis secretly hoped it didn't.

"'Cause I am," Harry said, turning on his back and keeping his eyes locked with Louis'. "We're going to do something I bet you've never done before."

"What's that, then?"

Harry grinned and shook his head. "Nice try, love," he said, and the simple nickname had Louis' stomach doing somersaults. "I'm not telling you a thing."

At an attempt to get at least a small bit of information, Louis pouted, but Harry's grin only widened. "Very subtle."

"Whatever," Louis said, returning the grin.

Harry glanced at Louis' sweater with a small frown. "You should change, you know. 'Ve got blood all over that."

"I know," Louis said, looking down at the expensive article of clothing he could now toss out. He looked up again, meeting Harry's eyes.

Nerves washed over him when the room turned quiet and they were only staring at each other. They could kiss now. All Louis had to do was lean over and press his lips to Harry's, something he seriously wanted to do. There was just that stupid hurdle of insecurity preventing him, and he needed to get himself to step over it, to get over his own fucking fear of rejection for once.

"What are you waiting for?" Harry suddenly asked, his voice soft. Apparently, Louis' blatant staring at Harry's lips hadn't gone unnoticed by the owner.

Louis released a small breath. "Scared," he admitted in a whisper.

"Of fucking up?"

"Of rejection."

There it was. Another piece of him, handed over to Harry for him to judge or to accept. Another piece that allowed Harry to see just a bit more of the real him.

Showing who he was, his proper, true self was a lot more terrifying than choosing whether or not to kiss Harry.

Harry's eyebrows shot up at Louis' confession, clearly surprised at the sudden honesty. He leaned up on his elbows. "You should know," he said, "that you're the last person I'd reject. We could be having the worst fight and I'd still want to kiss you."

Not a single trace of a lie was to be found in Harry's eyes. It was nearly overwhelming, to have someone be that sincere with you. Louis had the urge to cry, for some reason. He had that feeling in his chest again, a feeling he had been having a lot lately: like he belonged. Like he had found his place, and that people wanted him around.

It was a feeling he hadn't had in years, the feeling of knowing people wanted him around. Perhaps that was a bit depressing, to not be familiar with a feeling like that. Although, now that he was familiar with it, didn't that make it far less depressing? Was it a good thing?

Swallowing thickly, Louis leaned on his hand closest to Harry and leaned over, his heart thundering in his chest and his stomach filling with butterflies as he got closer. His eyes shut and he felt his lips connect with Harry's, a wave of desire washing over him. Kissing Harry was like a drug, and Louis knew that none of the drugs Harry had ever taken could compare to the feeling.

Leaning all his weight on one elbow, Harry put his hand on Louis' jaw, returning the kiss slowly.

The feeling was still indescribable. It was enough to make Louis feel fucking mental as if literally nothing else mattered at that moment other than kissing Harry; not even breathing was important anymore. He'd happily suffocate if it would allow him to keep his lips on Harry's.

Louis used his free hand to grab the edge of Harry's sweater, tugging on it to pull both himself and Harry forward, a bit more of a rush behind the kiss now. Harry stroked his thumb over Louis' cheekbone before moving his hand to the back of his head, gently pulling Louis with him as he slowly laid down on the bed. Complying easily, Louis put his hand on the other side of Harry's torso so that his upper body was hovering over Harry.

Harry tangled his hand in the hair on the back of Louis' head, licking over Louis' lower lip to allow him to slip his tongue past Louis' lips. Electric pulses ran down Louis' spine when their tongues slid together, a sensation he announced by making a small sound, something close to a whine. A voice in the back of his head kept telling him to shut this whole thing down already, considering he had to keep his body hidden from Harry's eyes, but when something felt this good, was it really possible to stop it?

Harry put one hand on Louis' waist and slid it under his sweater, ghosting his fingertips over Louis' skin. It was intoxicating; the feeling of Harry's hands on his skin was absolutely intoxicating. Harry clearly knew this as he dragged his fingertips up Louis' back, dragging them back down with just a bit more pressure. Louis moaned quietly at the sensation, his lips parting far enough for an open-mouthed kiss, tongues lazily sliding together with barely any proper technique.

When Harry's hand lowered to his bum and squeezed and Louis moaned again, Harry smirked into the kiss, pulling away from it with both a satisfied and hungry look in his eyes.

"So easy," he mumbled, and Louis had trouble registering the words. "You respond so easily to me."

"'Cause what you're doing feels good," Louis said, shuffling until he was straddling Harry's lap, a leg on each side of his waist. Harry grinned lazily and put both his hands on Louis' hips, squeezing affectionately. Louis had to pretend like it didn't hurt from the bruise hidden there.

"I make you feel good?" Harry asked, suddenly sitting up and tugging the collar of Louis' sweater down to expose his collarbones where he pressed a kiss. "Is that it? I make you feel good?"

"Yeah," Louis breathed out, barely able to watch Harry kissing all over his exposed collarbones but still trying his best.

Harry glanced up for a second, biting his lower lip. "Want to make you feel good right now."

Louis had to say no, he had to stop it. All Harry could do was kiss his collarbones, but in no way could he take off Louis' shirt. Louis had to shut it down right that moment.

Still, he swallowed thickly and nodded. "Okay," he whispered, and with a widened smirk, Harry reattached his lips to Louis' collarbones.

This time, he didn't just kiss but worked on creating lovebites, which had Louis breathe out heavily the whole time. The pressure combined with the light sting was, for some reason, an insanely good and arousing feeling. Louis didn't even realise he was grinding his hips forward until Harry groaned against his skin, tightening his hold on Louis' hips.

Immediately, Louis felt that Harry was rock hard, just like he was, and instantly, calculated out a plan that would leave both of them satisfied without having to take their clothes off. So, this time, Louis didn't do it unconsciously but put proper effort into his grinding, rolling his hips back and forth and using Harry's sounds as navigation to the right spots and pace.

Harry pulled him in for a hungry kiss, his hands roaming over Louis' body while he tried to dominate Louis' mouth; of course, he was succeeding. Despite this being their second attempt at anything sexual (the first one didn't count, they were drunk and in the middle of a baseball field), they already seemed to be oddly aware of each other's sweet spots.

They were also very comfortable with each other already, that much was obvious. Louis didn't think he could do something like this with anybody other than Harry.

One of Harry's hands suddenly slipped under Louis' shirt and up to his chest. Harry lightly dragged his fingers over one of Louis' nipples, and it was so unexpected that Louis instantly responded to the touch, whining quietly and pushing his chest out a bit. Clearly satisfied with the response, Harry smirked into the kiss but didn't continue, leaving Louis high and dry.

It was probably for the best. Who knew, Harry might be thinking off taking Louis' sweater off, and God knew that wasn't an option.

"You're teasing," Louis mumbled against Harry's lips.

"'Cause I know what it does to you," Harry mumbled back, and Louis found the reply so hot for some reason, that he rocked his hips forward hard enough for the both of them to moan into each other's mouths.

"Fuck, keep doing that," Harry said, gripping Louis' waist tight enough with one of his hands for it to bruise. His other hand was rubbing up and down Louis' thigh, constantly getting dangerously close to his crotch and leaving behind a strong want for him to just go _a little bit higher, please_.

After a minute or so, Harry laid back down and pulled Louis with him, now grabbing his waist with both hands and rubbing their groins together. They weren't even kissing anymore, but only moaning and groaning into each other's mouths. Louis put as much effort into what he was doing as he could, wanting to show Harry that he was good at this kind of thing but also needing it to end, because with each moment that it didn't, Harry could see his injuries.

When Louis accidentally leaned a bit too much on his injured knee, he made a pained noise and almost immediately, Harry pulled back with a worried look, his hands leaving Louis' waist. "What happened? Shit did I—"

"No, no," Louis said, shaking his head and shifting most of his weight on his right leg. "Just my knee, 's'fine, don't worry about it."

"Yeah, okay, okay," Harry said, nodding and swallowing thickly before they both nudged their heads forward, connecting their lips again.

One of Harry's hands slipped under Louis' shirt, slowly dragging over Louis' bare back and pulling his sweater up at the same time, following his spine and creating goosebumps. For a moment, Louis allowed it, but then he remembered the bruises and realised he had to stop Harry, but instead of simply grabbing his arm and pushing it away, he just pushed his hips down again, a lot harder this time.

Harry moaned and snapped his head back, disconnecting their lips and seemingly forgetting about his initial plan about taking off Louis' sweater, his hands grabbing the covers below them. Louis had trouble holding his own moan in. "Fuck, Louis," Harry said, and the way he said Louis' name was so incredibly arousing that Louis repeated his movements, and kept doing so until Harry was moaning and writhing under him.

It was quite impressive for Louis, who was so utterly inexperienced, yet still making Harry respond to him like this.

It went without saying that he was incredibly proud of himself when Harry finally reached his orgasm, his head pushed back into the mattress and his mouth opened in a silent moan. His back arched before he collapsed on the bed entirely, and Louis couldn't stop himself from staring at Harry's face, a bit in awe. His brows were furrowed together and his eyes were closed, almost as if he was focusing on trying to get himself to calm down.

Eventually, after at least half a minute of deafening silence, he opened his eyes. A lazy grin grew on his face, and he actually looked so satisfied and relaxed that Louis had to laugh at the sight.

"What?"

"You look very pleased with yourself."

Harry grinned wider. "'Cause I am," he said, and then glanced down at Louis' crotch. "You didn't finish?"

Louis shook his head. "No."

"Need me to help you out?"

Instead of waiting for an answer, Harry just slotted his leg between Louis' and pushed it up, causing Louis to squeeze his eyes shut and lean forward on his hands, which were beside Harry's torso.

"Keep doing that, yeah."

His second orgasm with Harry was on top of Harry, instead of under him like last time. Louis pressed his face into the crook of Harry's neck when he came, moaning and gripping the covers under them tightly enough for his knuckles to turn white. He heaved a little and felt Harry brush a hand through the hair on the back of his head.

It took a couple of minutes before Louis lifted his head again, now stuck in that same post-orgasmic haze Harry was in. When their eyes met they giggled, some of the nerves washing out, because they both seemed to realise that this was the first time they got each other off without being completely wasted. That time in Harry's room hardly counted; they hadn't finished, which meant that they hadn't experienced this particular part yet, the part where they were both coming down.

"You should change now," Harry eventually said, his eyes flickering over Louis' face. "You're still wearing the bloody sweater. And you've got a new problem, should probably clean yourself up."

"We share that problem," Louis said, and Harry smiled. "Do you know where the bathroom is?"

"I'll figure it out."

"Are you sure? You're pretty daft sometimes."

"Fuck off, Tomlinson."

Louis only smiled and kissed Harry's nose, admiring the dimpled smile he got. "Not a chance."


End file.
